


i wouldn't have danced like that with any but you

by Percyjacksonfan3



Series: in the orchard [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Heartbreak, I mean a whole other level of pining here people, Kidnapping, M/M, Miscommunication, Racism (which is resolved because I have no time for that), Read Notes for More Tags, Sexy Times, This fic has it all including:, Thorin is dumb but he's trying, Thorin's POV, movie compliant, to the extreme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 232,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percyjacksonfan3/pseuds/Percyjacksonfan3
Summary: Thorin has survived the Battle of the Five Armies but his relationship with Bilbo is uncertain and precarious, especially in the newly reclaimed kingdom of Erebor. With Kíli set to marry Tauriel, and the Dwarves of Erebor still holding prejudice against outside races, Thorin must choose between his nephew's happiness or his own.Though he believes sending Bilbo back to the Shire is for the good of everyone, he and the rest of Erebor are thrown into turmoil when 5 years later his nephews secretly plot to bring Bilbo back. Coming face-to-face with Bilbo again makes it impossible for Thorin to stay apart from him any longer- but is Bilbo still willing to be with Thorin once more after he broke both of their hearts?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: in the orchard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990261
Comments: 531
Kudos: 433





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start out by saying that this fic is 200k+ words. I have minor additions and editing to do but I hope to be able to post at least 1 chapter/week. This is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own.  
> To continue the tags:  
> Minor/background relationships include: Kíli/Tauriel, Dwalin/Nori, Legolas/Gimli, Glóin/His wife, Bombur/His wife, and hints of Fíli/OFC and Thranduil/Bard  
> The racism I referred to is racism between races. I hope I've dealt with this in an appropriate way but if anybody finds any issues with my work know that I apologize and would appreciate any and all feedback/advice/criticism regarding it.  
> I am working from Peter Jackson's films, though certain elements from the books may be mentioned.  
> This fic has been in the works for over three years now. I've been working on it on and off, but it's always been in the back of my mind and has been a huge labour of love. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. I do have ideas for codas and sequels so depending on what real life brings there could be several works in this series, though I doubt any others would be this long.  
> The title for this fic has been taken from the poem In the Orchard by Muriel Stuart. It's a quick but compelling piece and I recommend it to everyone, though the poem itself has very little influence on this fic.  
> Though this chapter is a retelling of the movies with my own Bagginshield spin, it is essential for the rest of the fic and thus why I have included it here in a Prologue. The next chapter is when the real plot starts.  
> Come talk to me on Tumblr @Percyjacksonfan3

Thorin is dimly aware of the sounds of the armies below him as he lays bleeding out onto the ice. The pain from his stab wound crashes over him in waves and each beat of his heart takes more of his own strength from him. Through his clothing the ice is cold and the chill leeches into his bones. His breath escapes his body in painful huffs, each one harder to recover from.

His lungs are screaming at him and his stomach is warm from the blood. His mind is growing foggy. He’s going numb, the sharp pain ebbing away to be replaced with nothing.

But he can hear the battle.

He had seen the waves of soldiers and he hoped it was not the Dwarves who were making those awful noises. Horrible high-pitched screams and howls reach him even this high on the Ravenhill and the sounds of blades crashing against other weapons and armor pierces the air.

Thorin would feel guilt if he had the presence of mind to think beyond the next few minutes. He highly doubts that he will live beyond that.

Of course, that is when Bilbo has to show up.

_“Thorin!”_

The pain grows worse at the anguish he hears in the Hobbit’s voice, and Thorin wishes the look in Bilbo’s eyes wasn’t so _sad_. Bilbo falls down beside him, hands roving all over Thorin’s torso from panic, trying to find where the bleeding was worst so he could press down and stop it.

The Dwarf holds back his painful gasp at the sudden pressure and looks up at Bilbo, wanting to reassure him.

“I wish to part from you in friendship.” He’s surprised that he can manage to speak while staring up at him. He cannot believe that Bilbo is truly here, at the end, at _his_ end, but he is thankful nonetheless. Out of everybody, it is Bilbo who Thorin owes apologies to most of all. It is Bilbo who Thorin would choose to spend his final moments with.

“No you- you’re not going anywhere, Thorin. You’re going to live.” Bilbo says, but his eyes are full of terror and his hands are shaking before pressing more firmly down on Thorin’s wound.

The king doesn’t say anything. He is not so cruel as to take away his Hobbit’s hope, futile though he knows it is.

But he can make sure that Bilbo knows how sorry he is. He needs Bilbo to know that everything that has happened since reclaiming Erebor, since the gold sickness, wasn’t real. What was real, what had been real, was them together on the journey here. That had been him back when his mind was clear and his decisions were his own.

“I would take back my words and deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me. I was too blind to see it. I am so sorry,” he pauses, unsure what to say that could encompass all he had to apologize for. “That I led you into such peril.”

“No. I’m- I’m glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.”

Thorin wants to say no, to shake his head, but he knows his time is slipping. Bilbo’s face is falling out of focus and his voice is fading. It takes all of his strength but Thorin holds on for a few more moments, forcing his tongue to move, hating himself as the words fall clumsily from his lips.

“Farewell… Master Burglar.” He has lost the right to call Bilbo by his first name and the knowledge is a bitter blade forcing its way into Thorin’s heart. Half-delirious already, he thinks that the pain of hurting Bilbo is even worse than his injury from Azog’s blade. “Go back to your books... and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people... valued home... above gold... this world would be a merrier place.”

“No! No no no no no, _Thorin_. Don't you dare-”

“I am glad it was you,” Thorin’s eyes close even as he speaks, his words trailing off into a whisper as Bilbo speaks in denial overtop of him. Thorin wonders if he’s even listening as his head falls to the side and his voice becomes barely audible. “I would have had no other.”

Then all he knows is darkness and the slowing beat of his own heart.

* * *

The first time that Thorin has an actual conversation with Bilbo Baggins is the night they make it down from the Carrock.

Before that point of their journey he had kept his distance from the Hobbit for what he’d thought were good reasons. Bilbo complained, and he did it often. He was suspicious of the Dwarves and then hurt when they were suspicious of him in turn. He wasn’t a fighter, nor a healer and wasn’t the best pony rider either. He didn’t even seem to be a good burglar, if the incident with the trolls was anything to go by.

So he had been quite useless on the quest. This was something all the Dwarves would readily admit.

He was good company, Thorin supposed, if Bofur could be believed. Fíli and Kíli certainly seemed to keep falling back to speak with the Hobbit. In fact, many of the Dwarves seemed to enjoy whatever conversations they had with the burglar, despite his lack of practical skills, something which made Thorin send more than one subtly curious glance in the Hobbit’s direction.

Thorin could admit to himself that Bilbo wasn’t hard to look at. No beard to speak of, short hair, a bit pudgy around the middle and only tall enough to reach Thorin’s shoulder (barely), but still. There was something about his eyes that made Thorin need to glance at them again and again, just to get another look; which only made Thorin feel less inclined to like the Hobbit, since he couldn’t very well go the whole quest staring into their burglar’s eyes now, could he?

Bilbo’s hair, though short, seemed very fine and the colour was a shade Thorin quite liked. A soft, light brown that reminded Thorin of leaves in the beginning of autumn. The skin on his hands was soft, Thorin knew, obviously unused to handling anything heavier than gardening tools, and his fingers were quick in helping Bombur put together a meal or readying a pipe for a smoke, whichever seemed more important.

But none of that meant that Thorin liked being responsible for him, especially when he knew nothing about the Hobbit or saw any sign of him being actually useful on this quest. It just seemed like a waste, dragging him from his home when it was obvious nobody (except perhaps Gandalf) really knew what he was doing with the rest of them. Especially Bilbo, who seemed more lost than anyone most of the time.

There was a part of Thorin that was petrified the burglar was going to be killed at every risk they encountered. He is unwilling to allow himself to grow close to somebody only to have to watch them die, no matter how much Bilbo intrigues him. No matter what his own heart may say on the matter. He does what he can, even asking Dwalin to train the Halfling in sword fighting, but still he stays back even though every part of him protests to do so.

The attack from Azog and the morning on the Carrock changes things. Changes everything it seems. Every conversation Thorin has had with Bilbo so far has seemed significant in some way, always sticking in his head to be replayed again and again after, but now Thorin has proof that Bilbo won’t be killed at the smallest danger. The Dwarf can now admit that it’s likely the Hobbit will be staying with them for the quest’s duration, that they might both come out of this alive- and that he might not entirely hate the idea.

Then there is also the fact that Bilbo was ready to die for him. That is something Thorin can’t begin to understand, given that the few words they’ve shared haven’t exactly been kind. He knows the reason he feels the way he does. To be shown Bilbo has some kind of devotion to him in turn… he would know why.

“I do not know how to properly thank him.” The king admits to Balin as the other Dwarf helps him down the Carrock.

Dwalin grunts behind him but his face is perfectly innocent when his brother and Thorin look back to determine his meaning. Thorin almost rolls his eyes as he turns ahead once more, focusing on making it down the treacherous trail. Balin’s grip on his arm doesn’t falter as he helps guide him, even as the older Dwarf looks ahead to watch the back of Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo, who was chattering away to Bofur and Bifur, doesn’t notice.

“I think the short of it is that you don’t know _him_.” Balin replies thoughtfully, teaching Thorin a lesson without being patronizing about it, as the old Dwarf has such a gift of doing. “Have you spoken to the lad once since he joined us? Paid him any notice at all except to harp on at him about this mistake or that?”

“I have been concerned with other things.” Thorin reminds the older Dwarf pointedly, but the knowing look on Balin’s face doesn’t fade. Instead it morphs into something chastising.

“He was willing to fight and die for you without you sparing him the time of day to take any interest in who he is or where he comes from.” Balin says quietly and Thorin does feel shame curl in his stomach at the reminder. “You forget, I think, that out of all of us Bilbo has the least to gain from this venture. Yet he has stuck with us all the same, despite the hardship.”

Thorin remembers his own suspicion after the Goblin Tunnels, and how he’d insisted on Bilbo telling them why he had returned. He frowns. “I am aware.”

Which was what made Thorin so frustrated with the Hobbit. With anybody else he would have said it was the treasure that made Bilbo stay with them all, but he somehow knows that isn’t the case. Bilbo seems to have no love of gems or gold, instead preferring food, his books and his garden. And it is apparent from the Hobbit’s attitude he does not feel the connection between the two of them that Thorin did.

So what makes him stay?

He confounds Thorin, which is something the king isn’t used to. After growing up surrounded by politics and gold and then being an outcast with all pleas for aid rejected, he has become good at reading others and figuring out their motives. Any other sane being would only come on a journey such as this if they had something to gain, a vested interest in the spoils.

Bilbo’s motivation is a mystery.

“Imagine how much of a help he would be if you bothered to show him some kindness,” Balin says bluntly, making Thorin look over at him sharply and snap out of his musings. “You know most of us from years in exile, my boy. We are all on this quest for our own reasons, but we know who we are following and why.” Guilt is beginning to creep through Thorin, and it only solidifies when Balin sniffs in disappointment and finishes his lecture. “I fear Bilbo has no idea.”

“So I must talk to him.”

“If you’re looking for suggestions then that is mine.” Balin says firmly, looking down to take a careful step away from the crumbling edge of the stairs. “And some tact would not go amiss either. He is not a Dwarf, Thorin, but he is one of us all the same. Have some care.”

“I think I know how to have a conversation, Balin.” Thorin snaps, and Dwalin grunts again, making the king glare at him over his shoulder. “I am not as helpless as you two would believe.”

Balin doesn’t look impressed when Thorin turns to face him again. “Yes, that is why it is me helping you down this blasted rock and not the other way around.”

Dwalin finally speaks. “If you leave all of your bluster behind you then I think ye’ll find he’s fairly easy to talk to. That Hobbit has been trying to gain your approval since the moment he left his home. You could probably just sit there and as long as you’re not too rude he’ll be happy.”

Balin nods at his brother’s words. “He’s quite a simple fellow.”

Thorin sighs. “Very well.” He agrees and that is as much conversation he will allow on the subject.

When they finally made it several hundred feet away from the Carrock it is a few hours until sundown but Thorin decides to call for them all to make camp. He is not in the best form to continue and most of the Company hadn’t slept the night before, save a few who have managed to find rest on the backs of the eagles.

It was Bilbo who brought Thorin a bowl of the stew Bombur had made from several freshly caught rabbits, and the Dwarf masks his surprise, accepting it with a nod of thanks. Bilbo hesitates, his own meal in his hands as he looks for where to sit and Thorin shifts carefully, leaving a space beside himself so they can both lean against a fallen tree.

“Will you eat with me, Master Hobbit?” Thorin asks and Bilbo seems unable to hide his surprise.

“Oh I- yes of course.” He carefully tucks himself against the log, sitting cross legged and eating the stew slowly.

Thorin finds himself at a loss for words and tries to think of something quickly to say. He swallows his current mouthful hurriedly, making him burn his tongue right before he rasps out, “this is quite good.”

Bilbo looks over at him with confusion on his face.

“The stew.” Thorin clarifies, taking a quick draught from his water skin and the Hobbit’s face cleared.

“Oh yes,” he nods. “Bombur’s a very good cook. Especially with limited ingredients.” He seems to hesitate and glance warily at Thorin before continuing. “I wouldn’t have thought a Dwarf would take much care in cooking.”

Thorin pushes down the automatic defensiveness that fills him at the words, as he suspects that Bilbo had not meant to be insulting. “No?” He asks neutrally.

Bilbo shakes his head. “I thought you all worked with metals and gems or were warriors like Dwalin.” He confides, sounding a bit embarrassed from his lack of knowledge. It isn’t a position Thorin supposes Bilbo was in often. The Hobbit seems to be quite well read in many different subjects. “It wasn’t until speaking to Bombur that I realized you specialized in other things.” As if hearing how he sounds, he blushes. “Oh, this isn’t coming out right, I don’t mean to offend you. I know Dwarves have to eat just like any race. But I wouldn’t have thought you’d consider cooking to be one of your crafts.” Bilbo says and Thorin nods, relaxing and taking another mouthful of stew.

“Aye, it is an unusual profession to many of us, it’s true. I myself feel no calling to it.” He admits with a wry smile. “But as you said we all need to eat.”

Bilbo smiles a small smile of relief. “Yes, of course.” He says and hesitates again before saying, “it’s quite different from us Hobbits.”

“Oh?”

“All Hobbits know how to cook.” Bilbo reveals. “We enjoy food an awful lot and since it usually comes straight from our own gardens it can be an area of pride for some. Many of us invite neighbours and family over just to have an excuse to cook a big meal.” He smiles happily. “It’s quite good fun.”

Thorin makes himself look away from the expression on the Hobbit’s face. “Sounds wonderful,” he replies gruffly.

Silence falls between them and when Thorin glances back over Bilbo is chewing his bottom lip with worry.

“What is it?” He asks.

Bilbo’s head shoots up and meets his eyes guiltily. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Now Thorin blinks in confusion. “Offend me?”

Bilbo, if anything, looks even guiltier. He shifts, pulling his threadbare jacket closer around him as if to add another layer of protection. “I’m not usually so unaware of other people’s feelings, I promise I have much more tact than this.” He says with earnestness bleeding through his words. “Here I am going on about home-cooked meals and big family gatherings with friends while you…”

“Ah.” Thorin’s confusion clears with understanding. “Meanwhile I have no home to speak of, few who I would call friend and almost no family members left. I see.”

“I didn’t mean to sound as though I was gloating,” Bilbo says miserably. “It’s just that Hobbits are a very family-centred people, very friendly. We take great joy in it and it makes up a big part of our lives. We concern ourselves with family, gardening and the occasional row over good pipeweed.”

“Peace, Master Hobbit.” Thorin says once Bilbo finally gives him the chance. He’s amused, which is a pleasant surprise, and whatever slight he’d felt earlier is gone now. “I took no offense from your words.”

Bilbo’s expression falls even further. “Oh, goodness. But now I’ve made the awful blunder of thinking you had and made things terribly awkward.”

Thorin actually laughs and it makes Bilbo look up so suddenly, obviously startled, that he only laughs harder. Even the others shoot them surprised glances. “Are you always so infuriatingly polite? Is it a Hobbit trait? How do any of you get anything done, if you spend all your time tip-toeing around one another?”

Bilbo wrinkles his nose, whether in offense or in thought Thorin can’t be sure. “I do try and be polite, yes, but I fear my senseless babbling is more from being nervous than manners. And it takes more than brawn and swagger to make an impression, you know. We Hobbits might know life is more pleasant the nicer everybody is, but it doesn’t stop us from settling disagreements and doing what we like either.”

The Dwarf isn’t sure how to reply to that and instead chooses to focus on the first part of Bilbo’s response. Though he is happy to see some spark of fight in the Hobbit, even if it only comes out when defending his own people and home. There is nothing more worth fighting for and defending in Thorin’s opinion.

“Nervous?” He inquires finally, taking another small mouthful of stew. Bombur truly has outdone himself tonight with what little time and provisions they had. “The orcs are far behind us at this point, I promise you. We covered quite a distance with the Eagles.”

“Oh, no. I- that wasn’t what I meant.”

Thorin sits patiently but when it becomes clear that Bilbo isn’t going to clarify he sighs and condescends to ask. “What was it you meant?”

Bilbo swallows his own stew while waving a hand carelessly at Thorin. “You’re quite intimidating you know. Not to mention blunt. I’ve spent this whole quest thinking you didn’t like me. At the very least you definitely want me to go back home.”

Shame is becoming a familiar emotion to Thorin at this point and he looks away. “Ah. Yes, I must apologize once more for that. You have upturned my expectations at every moment, Master Burglar, and I confess they were not high. I misjudged you most egregiously.”

Bilbo shrugs. “I suppose I didn’t give you much reason to think otherwise.” His smile is a tad self-deprecating. “I haven’t exactly been useful so far.”

“On the contrary,” Thorin murmurs, “you are the only reason I am alive to sit here now.”

Bilbo blushes but meets Thorin’s eyes steadily and a warmth blooms between them, a sudden comradery that is as welcome as it is puzzling.

“Any of the others would have done that.” Bilbo says finally, finishing his stew and setting his bowl aside. “I just happened to not be in immediate danger at the time. Besides it was mostly Gandalf up on the Carrock.”

Thorin shakes his head. “They may have wanted to come to my aid, but it was you that did. For that you have my gratitude. And if it wasn’t apparent before then let me make it clear now. You are a part of this Company, one that none of us would wish to leave behind, and we are in your debt for having you among us.”

There’s a small, pleased smile on Bilbo’s face and Thorin only glances at it for a minute, seeing the way his lips turn up at the corners, before looking back down at his empty bowl.

He wishes he had something to do with his hands and flexes his fingers around the bowl’s rim.

The rest of the evening passes in relative peace. Kíli and Fíli cause a stir when they try to steal Glóin’s throwing axe but Dwalin quickly sorts that out. Gandalf watches them all in amusement with Balin smiling fondly at his side.

And Bilbo and Thorin sit against the old tree and talk quietly until night falls and Thorin’s wounds drain him of his energy. When he wakes in the middle of the night it is to the sight of Bilbo curled up beside him breathing quietly, softly illuminated by the light from the moon with his eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids from a dream.

Thorin falls back to sleep with a smile on his lips.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the two of them immediately become friends. Thorin is sullen and easy to anger at the best of times and being on a taxing quest with constant threats, little sleep and less food is not helping enhance his more endearing qualities.

The other Dwarves are wise enough to give him his distance when he’s in a foul mood, whether from knowing him for years or because he is technically their king and they don’t have the rank to speak back when he snaps at them all.

Gandalf has no such restrictions but Thorin finds it easy to ignore the Wizard’s barbs. Gandalf has more patience than the rest of them all and he rarely snaps at Thorin, instead just muttering under his breath and falling back to speak with more pleasant company.

Then there is Bilbo.

Bilbo’s temper is also fraying on the quest, but Thorin knows that the Hobbit is just naturally more polite than he is. Bilbo’s frustration is close to par with Thorin’s attitude when he’s trying to be well-mannered. Bilbo’s anger would likely be a fearsome thing to behold, Thorin no longer doubts it, but his frustration compared to the rest of the Company’s is quite tame.

Some might even call it cute.

But with Thorin’s gratefulness came acceptance and Bilbo seems to have taken it as an invitation to make his opinions on things quite clear. Including Thorin’s rudeness.

Thorin is sitting outside of Beorn’s house smoking his pipe. He is not sulking. No matter what Balin or Gandalf may claim. Their disagreement over food rations and asking Beorn for assistance had caused him to grow defensive and snap at them both. Gandalf had wisely called an end to the discussion, telling them both they would decide at a later time and subtly sending Thorin outside by himself to calm down.

Thorin had done the same to Kíli and Fíli on many occasions and he will admit, he’s miffed at being given a time out by the Wizard.

Still, he suspects that he will end up giving in. They do need provisions, especially if they want to make it through Mirkwood without encountering Thranduil or his Elves, and Beorn hasn’t been unreasonable so far.

Pride is hard to overcome though, especially wounded pride that is a result of asking other people for aid and being rejected over and over. Thorin does not like relying on others- as he learned long ago they can rarely be trusted. Not when it counts.

So Thorin had grown angry and defensive. And now he is out here having a smoke- not sulking- and sitting on the bench beside Beorn’s looking out over the pastures surrounding the house.

It is quite peaceful here. He can see how some creatures could live like this, surrounded by nature of a kind that was different than a mountain, just enjoying themselves and the solitude.

Thorin yearns for his mountain more and more with every passing day, but he can see the appeal of a life like this. Even the Shire had seemed a quaint place, though it’s occupants and their attitudes were more dubious.

Then again, Thorin scolds himself, Bilbo isn’t so bad. Not bad at all, really. They’ve grown quite comfortable with one another the past few days; and it had happened very easily.

“What are you doing out here sulking all alone?” Bilbo calls, making Thorin’s eyes jolt to him and watch as he comes strolling from the surrounding grassy plain towards the bench Thorin is sitting on.

Speak and he shall appear. Thorin’s ire comes back immediately at the mocking. “I am not sulking.”

“Sorry, brooding.” Bilbo corrects himself innocently, coming to sit beside the Dwarf with a smile.

He smells of grass and his skin is flushed from the sun. For some reason that makes Thorin even angrier.

“I am contemplating.” Thorin says finally, turning away to take another smoke. “It is entirely different but happens often when dealing with stubborn and pig-headed fools.”

“Funny, that’s what Gandalf says about you lot.” Bilbo replies cheerily.

Thorin’s lip curls up in a snarl. “Is it now?”

Bilbo’s smile doesn’t dim at all. “Mmm. Can’t say I disagree with him.”

Thorin’s glare turns to the Hobbit. “Take care how you speak, Master Burglar.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing.” Bilbo says. “Obviously charging Azog alone while your allies are hanging off a tree over a cliff was something no stubborn pig-headed fool would do.”

For a second Thorin stops. Partly because nobody has spoken to him like this in ages- well, unless you counted Dwalin, which Thorin didn’t because Dwalin was like that with everybody- and partly because Bilbo looks so happy and relaxed, it is as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

It makes Thorin smile and then that smile turns into a chuckle which devolves into a laugh.

“Careful Bilbo,” Thorin warns and the name slips out entirely without his permission but it makes the Hobbit’s face light up in absolute pleasure, so he thinks he might let it happen more often in the future, no matter the impropriety. “There is only so much I let my friends get away with.”

Bilbo looks extremely unimpressed. “Yes, I can see the terror and respect you’ve imbued in your nephews.”

Thorin recalls Kíli and Fíli’s multiple pranks and teasing and he frowns. “They’re a special case.”

“And Gandalf and Balin and Dwalin-”

“There are some people who find me intimidating.” Thorin says with ill humour while still definitely not sulking. “I’m technically a king you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Bilbo nods. “I think kings need to be brought down a peg or two more often than the rest of us though, don’t you agree?”

Thorin sniffs. “No I do not.”

Bilbo’s grin is mischievous but soft. “Mmm. Good thing you don’t get to decide then.”

“Is that so?” Thorin asks, but his annoyance is fading into a warm pool of contentment. Peace is replacing the worries from earlier this afternoon. Bilbo is very distracting, if nothing else, and has a way of calming Thorin down. “I suppose that responsibility falls to you?”

“It’s a burden but someone’s got to do it. I’ll make the sacrifice.” Bilbo says idly, leaning back on his hands to face up towards the sun. His eyes are closed and the smile that plays about his mouth is teasing and tantalizing in a way Thorin had never thought a smile could be.

He clears his throat, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Well I’ll just leave it to you and trust you have all of our best interests at heart.”

“Good.”

A peaceful silence falls between them, with Thorin subtly watching Bilbo out of the corner of his eye and the Hobbit completely unaware as he basks in the light.

Of course then he has to go and ruin it.

“What sent you out here all in a huff anyway? I practically heard your stomping and door slamming at the edge of the pasture.”

Thorin sighs. “Must we ruin a perfectly good afternoon?”

“If it will help us on our journey I think it will be an afternoon well wasted.”

Thorin is quiet, puffing away and considering whether or not to actually tell Bilbo. The Hobbit sits up and turns towards him expectantly, waiting to see whether an answer would come.

But the Hobbit is a part of this quest and Thorin’s decision affects him just as much as the rest of them. He supposes a fresh perspective would help.

“Gandalf and Balin have advised me that we need to ask for provisions from Beorn.”

Bilbo nods thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea. Especially because we need to cross that forest soon.”

Thorin’s mouth twists, but Bilbo’s words aren’t accusing, and he sighs. “I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The Dwarf shifts uncomfortably. “I would rather not ask for aid. The concession of doing so is… unappealing to me.”

Bilbo barks out a laugh. “By that I take it you mean your pride is struggling with the decision?”

Thorin’s face darkens in an instant. “That’s not what I-”

“Thorin.”

Bilbo’s voice is softer now, all traces of jokes and teasing gone as he leans forward to rest a small hand on the Dwarf’s arm. Thorin’s words die and he looks down at the place of contact and then quickly back up into hazel eyes that, gods forbid, look overwhelmingly fond.

“You will do what needs done because we rely on you for it. I know that you’d never risk putting us in even the slightest discomfort if you could avoid it. There’s no way you’ll leave here without at least asking Beorn for more food. Even kings need help sometimes, and if it’s a choice between their pride and personal happiness or their people, good kings choose their people. Always.” He smiles brightly. “It’s what makes a great king. And you, Thorin Oakenshield, are a great king. You’ll always put your people first. Any creature with eyes can see it.”

Thorin is arrested by Bilbo’s gaze and touch. His pipe lays forgotten, dangling from his hand beside him as the Dwarf leans towards Bilbo without meaning to, leaving even less space between them. “And if Beorn refuses? He barely let us stay here as it is, I doubt he’s eager to send us away with his food and beloved ponies. What shall we do then?”

“There are Elves in the forest,” Bilbo says, voice lowering to a murmur. “If we truly needed help I believe you would set aside your pride and ask. I can’t believe they would allow us to starve.”

Thorin’s expression clouds again. “You do not know Thranduil as I do.”

“No.” Bilbo admits. “But I know you. You wouldn’t allow him to let us die.”

Their eyes hold again and if it was anyone else Thorin probably would have refuted the claim. There are few people who truly know him, he can count the number on one hand, and even on a journey like this where everyone must trust everyone else to have their backs, the others have been kept at a careful distance.

But Bilbo has wormed his way in, despite Thorin’s usual barriers, and he’s done it alarmingly quickly given that they’d only truly started speaking as equals since the Carrock.

The Dwarf has realized something else since he and Bilbo have begun to talk as friends and it almost scares him more than the thought of Smaug waiting for them in Erebor.

In one of their many conversations since the Carrock Thorin realized that he is extremely attracted to Bilbo Baggins. So attracted that he is in danger of allowing himself to do something he has not allowed this entire quest.

It wasn’t a gradual realization. In fact it hit him all at once and Thorin’s been quietly nervous around Bilbo ever since. If he’s not meeting Bilbo’s eyes and thinking how interesting they are, he’s looking at his hands and wanting to touch them. Or noticing the sunlight glint off his hair, or the moonlight off of his face, and finding himself restraining his own hands from reaching out to feel.

Thorin has been attracted to others before, always Dwarves, but never so strongly. His hands twitch when Bilbo is around, wanting to get closer to him. He finds himself licking his lips in preparation for a kiss that isn’t coming. One night they were speaking so closely to stay quiet and not wake up the others that if Thorin had only bent his head slightly his lips would have touched Bilbo’s.

It had been a heady moment between them.

And now Bilbo is touching his arm and saying these things like he knows Thorin inside and out and is confident that Thorin will do the right thing and the Dwarf finds his willpower crumbling slowly.

“You would have me ask the person who allowed my people to be slaughtered for aid.” Thorin says, and his voice is quieter than before, rasping past his lips in a way that makes Bilbo’s eyes fall to his mouth.

Thorin can’t help but look at his in return.

“I would have you do what is right, as I think you would even without me here.” Bilbo sounds slightly breathless and he leans even closer, making Thorin’s heartbeat quicken. He’s barely listening to what they’re saying anymore. “But first I wish you would just ask Beorn.”

Thorin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and he swears the Hobbit’s eyes darken. Bilbo’s hand is still on his arm and it tightens quickly, only for a moment, but it’s enough for Thorin to notice. Without stopping to think, he gives in from resisting the urge he’s been feeling for so long and closes the distance between the two of them to kiss Bilbo.

The difference in their heights makes him have to lean down, but it’s not so much that he’s uncomfortable. Bilbo tightens his hand on Thorin’s arm again, this time using it to try and pull him a bit closer, and the Dwarf goes willingly. His pipe falls to the bench with a quiet click of wood against stone and he uses his newly freed hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek, angling his head just slightly so the Dwarf’s tongue can sweep into Bilbo’s mouth and taste.

Bilbo’s lips are soft, surprisingly so, and his mouth is warm and wet while tasting of honey, making Thorin groan. Thorin’s hand is dislodged slightly as Bilbo presses in closer, his fingertips brushing the Hobbit’s ear, and Bilbo makes a sound that makes heat shoot straight to Thorin’s groin and his trousers tighten more than they already have.

He experimentally brushes the shell of Bilbo’s ear again in a caress with his thumb and the Hobbit sucks particularly hard on the Dwarf’s tongue, which is still in his mouth. They both gasp simultaneously.

Their movements grow more urgent, both of them pressing closer to each other, not stopping for anything other than a quick breath. Bilbo’s hands make their way to Thorin’s chest over his tunic and shirt and Thorin’s cradle the back of Bilbo’s neck and he experimentally brushes a thumb over his ear.

They’re forced to pull away when the sound of Thorin’s nephews just inside the door reaches them, and it’s with truly admirable willpower that Thorin shifts back, meeting Bilbo’s eyes to see the question making his own heart pound reflected back to him.

_Oh._

They don’t have time to go through their mutual crisis however and Thorin hurriedly pats down his hair (when had Bilbo had his hands in his hair?), grabs his pipe, and turns to face forward, seeing Bilbo do a quick check of his own before doing the same.

His pipe is barely to his lips when Fíli and Kíli burst out of the house only to halt abruptly at the sight of them.

“Uncle!” Kíli says before stopping, taking in his appearance and obviously flushed cheeks. Thorin licks his lips, trying to hide any traces of what they’d been attached to only seconds before. “What’s wrong? Why are you all red?”

Thorin’s face does not get any redder, thank you very much. He opens his mouth, mind racing, but Bilbo interjects smoothly when it becomes clear he’s struggling to find an answer.

“He’s been sitting out here in the sun for too long, that’s why.” The Hobbit says, making his voice cross, and causing all three Dwarves to look at him. “I told him to go inside, that you Dwarves are far more used to being inside than out, but you know how stubborn he is.”

Fíli chokes and the corners of Kíli’s mouth are twitching a bit madly from what Thorin guesses is suppressed amusement.

“Awe, Uncle, can your delicate complexion not handle some sunlight? After travelling for so long you’d think you’d build up a tolerance.” Fíli says and Kíli snickers beside him.

“That is not it at all.” Thorin snaps. “I’m just….”

He trails off and Bilbo shoots him a look with a raised eyebrow, his expression nothing but innocently curious, all signs of what they’d been doing before gone. Thorin narrows his eyes at him, surprised at the flutter in his chest.

“Yes?” Kíli says.

“Nothing.” Thorin says, turning to look back to his sister’s sons. “But it’s not that.”

“Of course, Uncle.” Fíli consoles, regaining himself and looking solemn.

Thorin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “What was it you two menaces needed?”

“Oh that.” Fíli shrugs, tucking one of his braids behind his ear. “Gandalf and Balin are looking for you. Said you had a discussion you needed to finish.”

Thorin groans. “Wonderful. Tell them I’ll find them in a moment.” He taps his pipe meaningfully, seeing a thin trail of smoke wisp out. “I’ll finish this first.”

It’s not because of the pipe that Thorin doesn’t want to get up at this exact moment. He knows walking would be a tad difficult given that his trousers are a bit too tight.

Fíli and Kíli both disappear back inside and a flutter of nervousness fills Thorin at the fact that he is alone with Bilbo again.

The Hobbit dispels it by laughing. “I thought royalty would be better liars. With all your politics and what not.”

Thorin looks at him sourly. “I do fine, thank you. There was no need for you to step in.”

“Just trying to help,” Bilbo says, but when Thorin finally meets his eyes he still looks slightly unsure. Thorin can sympathize, neither he nor Bilbo are quite as collected as they are trying to appear. “Neither of us were quite prepared for that situation.”

“No.” Thorin agrees quietly, eyes searching Bilbo’s.

Silence falls between them again and Thorin swallows before working up his courage and saying, “but it wasn’t unwelcome. The situation.”

Relief is plain to see on Bilbo’s face along with a small smile. “No, nor with me either. It was… very welcome.”

A small smile lifts Thorin’s lips as relief fills him as well. “I am glad to hear it. Though if the sounds you were making were any indication, I don’t think I need your agreement to know-”

“I wasn’t the only one making noises.” Bilbo says, suddenly looking a bit pink himself. “I can’t help it if Hobbit’s have sensitive ears.”

Thorin’s grin widens. “I quite like it.”

“Oi, Thorin, where have you got to laddie?” Balin yells from inside somewhere and Thorin sighs, tilting his pipe to let the embers fall on the ground before stomping on them.

“While I’m sorry to cut this conversation short…”

“Duty calls.” Bilbo says lightly and Thorin nods, standing up.

He makes his way to the door but hesitates. “Bilbo-”

“We’ll talk later.” The Hobbit promises, but it’s not clear whether he’s reassuring himself or Thorin. “Right now there are more important things to deal with.”

Thorin wants to disagree, but he hears Gandalf’s low grumble from inside and it makes him sigh again. “Very well.” He relents and slips inside, away from the Hobbit’s knowing eyes.

* * *

The next chance they get to talk uninterrupted is one of the many haunted nights they sleep on the trail of Mirkwood. Their Company is tightly packed along the dirt path, packs tucked beneath their heads to form some semblance of pillows, all of them snoring loudly.

Well. Almost all.

Technically it’s Bilbo’s watch but Thorin can’t sleep. The two of them have ended up beside one another- and if Thorin was grateful for that, well, why shouldn’t he be? Bilbo was one of the few quiet sleepers of the party- and finally Thorin gives up trying to get some rest. He pulls himself upright to sit facing Bilbo who is sitting across from him and leaning against a conveniently located tree. The Hobbit doesn’t look surprised as Thorin gets up, making the Dwarf wonder whether he’s been watching him.

And then he curses himself for hoping that Bilbo was.

“You should sleep.” The Hobbit says uselessly, fingers tapping nervously on his own leg.

“Can’t.” Thorin replies, glancing around quickly.

“Hmm.” Bilbo agrees. His clothes were creased and smudged with dirt in some areas, but they were cleaner than they had been before the Company had stopped at Beorn’s. “This forest seems to have that effect.”

Thorin shifts uneasily. “I feel eyes watching me, but when I turn I see none.”

Bilbo nods. “I don’t think they’re just animal eyes either.”

“Elves.” Thorin says it like a curse. “They’ve likely been watching us since we entered the blasted place.”

Bilbo cocks his head and looks around, but nothing appears. “Well then they should know we’re friendly at least. I take it that if they haven’t attacked us it’s a good sign?”

“It’s all we can hope for.” Thorin grumbles. “I would rather we make it out of here without coming into contact with anything, least of all elves.”

Silence falls between them and Thorin takes the opportunity to just watch Bilbo. The Hobbit’s lips are pursed in thought and Thorin is finding it diverting.

Bilbo breaks the silence by asking. “This rivalry between your people. Isn’t it… inconvenient? It hinders more than helps, I would think. Lord Elrond seemed perfectly willing to give us aid but you still mistrusted him.”

“Elves care nothing for the lives of mortals.” Thorin retorts sharply, unsure whether or not Bilbo is insulting him and his race. Dwarves had more than enough good reasons to hate the Elves. “We are inconsequential to them, there and gone in a blink, and as a result they tend to play with our lives as if we are nothing but puppets. I would prefer an honest fight to such manipulations.”

Bilbo’s eyes are steady on his. “It just seems such a pity, given how formidable your two races are.” He has the ghost of a smile on his face. “Dwarves and Elves working together is a sight I would pay to see.”

“And one you are unlikely to.” Thorin huffs, his back growing sore from leaning against the stones behind him. “I have not known of a true friendship between a Dwarf and an Elf in all my years. Especially not after Smaug.”

“I suppose.” Bilbo muses. “Still, you weren’t too fond of Hobbits and now look at us.” He glances briefly around, noting that everybody is still asleep before his eyes turn mischievous. “You’re going around kissing them.”

Thorin’s cheeks grow warm but thankfully his stubble and the dark hide it. What little moonlight filtering through the trees is barely enough to make out Bilbo sitting across from him, never mind if he is blushing. “I have kissed one.” Thorin refutes. “And I heard no objections.”

“And still won’t.” Bilbo says before growing serious. “It was a rare peaceful day on this journey. I don’t blame us for…”

“Taking advantage?” Thorin suggests.

A soft smile is his reply. “Yes.”

Tentative silence falls and Thorin speaks. “And if that isn’t all it was?” He asks quietly, his own hands clenching to stop from fidgeting with nerves. “If one of them wanted it to happen again… even if it has to wait for the next peaceful day?”

Another few seconds of silence pass where Thorin’s heart races. Finally, Bilbo answers him. “Well if _one_ of them wanted that I think it’s reasonable to assume the other would as well.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Thorin says softly, carefully watching Bilbo in the moonlight. His hair keeps catching Thorin’s eye- it still looks extremely soft, even after running from orcs and trudging through a dirty forest for days.

Bilbo smiles and the look on his face is one Thorin never wants to leave it. He looks happy, excited in a way he hasn’t been the entire journey. It makes Thorin wonder if Bilbo has been lonely amongst all the Dwarves.

He must have, Thorin realizes. With all of their _Khuzdul_ that Bilbo doesn’t understand and the fact that all of them know one another from before the quest. Now that Gandalf is gone Bilbo is more the odd one out than ever.

His thoughts are stopped as Bilbo answers. “Then don’t assume. Just know that the burglar in your Company is eagerly awaiting our next peaceful day.”

Thorin’s grin is wide and though it’s gone quickly it’s heartfelt. “He’s not the only one.” He murmurs as a reply.

“Now try and get some sleep?” Bilbo suggests. “We’ll be useless if our leader is dead on his feet tomorrow.”

Thorin grumbles and mutters under his breath but he does take opportunity of the dismissal to lie back down and close his eyes.

Bilbo rests a hand on his leg and instead of making Thorin tense it relaxes him, and the Dwarf falls asleep quickly.

* * *

After Thranduil’s dungeons, barrel riding in rivers and battling orcs they make it to Lake-town.

It’s not the pleasantest of places but compared to the rest of their journey- except, perhaps, Rivendell, which even Thorin admits was beautiful despite its occupants- Lake-town seems positively welcoming.

Especially after their presence is discovered and the Master of the town gives them their very own house to stay in until the Company is ready to depart.

And until then…

“Oi! That drink was mine you little bugger!” Dwalin calls to Nori, who sends him a lascivious wink before holding the cup of ale high in a salute and downing it in three gulps. “Why you…”

Thorin turns away, ignoring the thump he hears seconds later and instead pretends he’s listening to Balin speaking beside him.

“…need to leave at daybreak if we want to make it to and find the doorway by Durin’s Day-”

“I know, Balin.” Thorin interrupts him, letting himself relax for once as he rests a hand on Balin’s shoulder. “We will make it. Especially now that the Men have pledged to help.”

The old Dwarf doesn’t look reassured. “That Master only agreed to help for the gold. If it comes down to it, I don’t think his word will mean much. Especially not against a Dragon.”

Thorin’s eyes shift to Bilbo at the mention of Smaug, but the Hobbit is across the room quietly talking away to Bifur who is leaning towards the burglar in interest.

After several seconds he realizes Balin is waiting for him to speak and when he turns back he finds his friend looking between him and Bilbo with a look of speculation.

“Then we must hope that there is no Dragon.” Thorin says quickly, trying to distract Balin from what he seems to have just let slip.

“Thorin-”

“Leave it.” Thorin says, and his tone is sharper than he meant it to be, making both him and Balin blink in surprise. He makes an effort to soften his words as he continues. “It’s nothing.”

“That expression on your face didn’t look like nothing.” Balin says gently. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” Thorin retorts while desperately wishing somebody would come rescue him from the conversation. “Nothing. It was- there was a moment-” He curses his loose tongue and shuts his mouth quickly. “It’s nothing.” He repeats.

Balin is quiet for a long time and Thorin watches him, waiting to see what he’ll do. Eventually Dwalin’s brother sighs. “Will it effect what we came to do?” He asks quietly.

“No.” Thorin says right away. “It was a kiss. Nothing more.”

Balin’s face grows darker. “You are not easily tempted by such things. A kiss from you is tantamount to a profession of love from another.”

Thorin shakes his head. “Enough. I can’t think of such things now.”

“And after? When Smaug is gone and we’re back home? You’ll be king, Thorin.”

Thorin presses his lips together tightly at the reminder. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“If he is your One-” Balin says delicately and Thorin tenses immediately. “- then I can see no objections.”

Balin looks between them, and this time Bilbo seems to notice because he shoots them both a questioning look that makes Thorin shake his head slightly. The Hobbit shrugs and turns back to Bifur.

“But you must be sure.”

The hand gripping Thorin’s cup tightens. “I know my responsibilities, Balin.”

It’s a gentle rebuke but it does the trick. Balin nods, eyes softening. “Aye, I know you do. Just make sure that Bilbo knows them too, hmm? I’d hate to see the poor lad get hurt.”

Thorin frowns. “I would never.”

With one last glance between him and Bilbo, Balin finally smiles happily. “No.” He says, and his voice is far too knowing. “No, I don’t think you would.”

* * *

Of course there is a Dragon.

Smaug is alive and well and yet Thorin is grateful for the sight of the beast charging towards them. It snaps him out of whatever daze he’s in when he’d come to find Bilbo and caught sight of all of the gold. The sword he’s been holding to Bilbo’s chest falls to his side and he meets the wide and scared eyes of the Hobbit with confused ones of his own.

But there is no time to talk about Thorin’s accusations because Smaug is coming for them, and then the other Dwarves are running in, weapons high and war cries echoing throughout the treasure hall in Erebor.

They survive, but only because Smaug is so enraged he flies off to Lake-town.

And Thorin lets him. Let the Men deal with the lizard they failed to kill so many years ago. If it hadn’t been for them Smaug would never have even reached Erebor. If the Bowman had only hit his mark, instead of wasting the only weapons that could kill the beast, so much would have changed. Let them deal with the menace they allowed into their lands.

Balin and Bilbo look unhappy but Thorin pushes their concerns away. Now that Smaug isn’t a problem (the men have managed to kill the Dragon somehow after all) the Arkenstone is. When Kíli, Fíli, Óin and Bofur show up, he sets them to work with the others.

“Find the Arkenstone,” he tells them all from his throne. “Without it this quest will have been for nothing.”

The Dwarves begin to search, and Bilbo moves to follow them, but Thorin calls him back.

“Not you, Bilbo. Stay a moment?”

The Hobbit does, looking a bit alarmed, and Thorin tries to soften his voice when the others leave and he begins to speak. “I wish to apologize for my actions. Accusing you was foolish. I do not know what came over me.”

Bilbo shifts slightly, his weight going from one foot to the other. “I’m just happy we made it.”

Thorin smiles and holds out a hand, which Bilbo moves forward to take. Standing in front of Thorin, who’s seated on his throne, they’re almost the same height.

“Why do you need the Arkenstone so badly?” Bilbo questions, still holding Thorin’s hand. “This is your kingdom, surely in the years it will take to make an inventory of everything inside of it, the stone will be found?”

Thorin smiles at the Hobbit’s innocence. The trust the Hobbit has is something he has grown to love dearly about Bilbo, and something he envies as well.

“The Dwarves on this quest are like kin to me.” Thorin says. “I trust them above all others, for they answered my call when no one else did. After all we’ve been through together I know that each and every one of them would fight and die for me.” He pauses. “And I for them.”

Bilbo nods.

“I trust that if any of them find the stone they’ll make sure to give it to me right away.” Thorin’s face darkens. “Any other Dwarf… I would not trust them to do so.”

Bilbo frowns. “But it’s the King’s Jewel. It belongs to you.”

“That stone is the Heart of the Mountain. It has great sway with the other powers of Middle-Earth as it cements wealth and the right to rule. Not only that, but whoever holds it has control over me as king, if they would choose to use it for leverage. Many Dwarves would give their lives to have it.” Thorin says, pulling Bilbo towards him once more as he opens his legs so the Hobbit can stand between them.

“For a rock?” Bilbo asks doubtfully and Thorin laughs.

“It is proof you have not seen it that you speak of it so carelessly.” Thorin raises a hand to caress Bilbo’s face. “That rock is a symbol of my power. An emblem of Erebor that displays our wealth. It can unite all the dwarven kingdoms behind me. It cannot be bought; no fool would ever dare to sell it because no price could match the Arkenstone’s worth.”

Bilbo leans his cheek into Thorin’s hand. “I’m surprised it was lost in the first place. From the sounds of it, Dwarves would have faced Smaug for the stone.”

“They did.” Thorin says. “Many ran back inside to try and retrieve it from Smaug the day he came. There have been past expeditions to this mountain solely for the Arkenstone.” The Dwarf’s voice lowers. “All failed. It was only those smart enough to realize we could bide our time and gather our strength before coming and retaking it that survived.”

“Or those of you who realized your lives are worth more than a gem.” Bilbo replies gently.

Thorin frowns at the words and is quiet for a few moments. “Is there nothing that Hobbits would die for then?”

Bilbo tilts his head, thinking. “No object that I can think of.” He says. “Family and friends, yes. Many Hobbits have given their lives defending loved ones.” His face darkens. “Wolves especially have taken more than one Hobbit’s parents- especially during the Long Winter.”

Thorin eyes Bilbo closely, seeing the tightening in corners of his mouth and feeling the way his hand grips Thorin’s briefly.

“You love one another dearly, to give your lives so bravely.” Is all he can think of to say, and Bilbo meets his eyes for a long time before flashing a quick, pained smile.

“If you cannot give your life for a loved one than what can you give it for?” He asks.

Before the quest Thorin would have said the Arkenstone, without hesitation. But now, after learning, as he thinks he just has, that Bilbo’s parents died to save him from wolves in some way, the answer seems rather callous.

“Indeed.” He says instead, looking at Bilbo as the realization overcomes him. “It would take something very special.”

Bilbo meets his eyes and for a moment Thorin feels connected to Bilbo so strongly, so entirely wrapped up in one another, that he can’t tell whether he’s imagining the look in the Hobbit’s eye.

The same look that is surely in Thorin’s own.

The one that says, _you_. I would give up everything, even my own life, if it was for you.

* * *

But things go downhill from there. If it’s not the gold sickness taking over Thorin’s mind, making him push Bilbo away and then jealously pull him closer again immediately, than it is the other Dwarves growing tired and weary all over again. They are finding some food on the mountain, and hunting bodes fairly well, but the Arkenstone has yet to be found, the Men from Lake-town are greedy and will want their gold soon and, to top everything off, the Elves have come.

Thorin can’t seem to think properly. It’s like he’s exhausted because his brain is sluggish and can’t focus on more than one thing at a time. The gold is his main priority and he makes rash and stupid decisions in the days that follow Smaug’s death.

He accuses Dwalin and the others of hiding the Arkenstone from him. Suspicions begin to plague him, creeping into his mind and growing, spreading until all he can think of is whether he’s been betrayed. The paranoia keeps him up, he eats less and less, and spends more time in the treasure halls scouring the floor for a glimpse of the gem.

Bilbo brings him his cloak when it grows chilled at night, the mountain’s heating system still off after years of disuse. The Hobbit also brings him food and is the only one who can convince him to sleep.

Back in a distant corner of Thorin’s mind he notes all of this and appreciates the Halfling for it. But it is a small, weak part of him, a part that can’t fight against the Dragon Sickness and his ire at being taken away from his gold.

He asks Bilbo to spend the nights with him and the Hobbit does the first couple of times, before things get bad. But as Thorin leaves to get up in the middle of the night more and more, the Hobbit is less easy to persuade to stay with him.

The second night they spend in Erebor Thorin wakes up when it’s still dark out, the gold whispering to him, and he finds himself on his side facing Bilbo, who’s curled up in sleep. Things aren’t too awful yet. He hasn’t accused the others of hiding the Arkenstone, Fíli, Kíli, Óin and Bofur haven’t even arrived, and there are moments when Thorin still feels like himself.

It’s what allows him to ignore the gold’s call for a moment, focusing on Bilbo and his face. He seems easy and relaxed in sleep, and the sinister whispers Thorin is hearing slowly disappear.

He’s tempted to pull Bilbo close and kiss him. Neither of them are shy with their bodies or deny their attraction, but they haven’t given themselves to one another completely yet either. They hadn’t had the chance before reaching the mountain, and after they had arrived…

Thorin knows he is to blame. Him and his distracted mind. He goes to sleep exhausted and wakes up eager to search some more. He has not been giving Bilbo the attention the Hobbit deserves.

Bilbo makes a quiet sound in his sleep, a groan, and his eyes move beneath his eyelids. Thorin wonders what he’s dreaming of, where Bilbo’s mind goes. He wonders if the Hobbit escapes Erebor in his dreams. Perhaps he thinks of home; perhaps Bilbo wants to go back to the Shire.

He hopes not. Erebor is not much of a home, not yet, but it will be again. Thorin hopes it could be one to Bilbo.

Because Balin was right, as he usually is. Thorin does not give his affections lightly, and he has never been so open so quickly with another being as he is with Bilbo. He’s never felt like this for anyone before.

Bilbo may be a Hobbit, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Thorin’s heart has made its choice and Thorin isn’t so distracted to not know how he feels. He recognizes the pull of his One just like any Dwarf blessed with the honour would. It’s the most powerful longing he’s ever felt.

The corner of his mouth turns down as he thinks of how he’s treated Bilbo lately. Ignoring him, hiding himself away in his father’s old study to plan for raids or a siege, looking for the Arkenstone, forcing Bilbo to sleep in his old chambers and leaving it to the Hobbit to clean it while Thorin focuses on other things.

Shame makes its way through him. No, Bilbo deserves better than that.

He feels his eyelids droop as he feels properly tired for the first time in days. As he drifts off, he decides that tomorrow he’ll give Bilbo a treat, just for him. Something to show Bilbo that Thorin hasn’t forgotten him.

When he wakes, he still remembers his promise and manages to ignore the gold’s call for a while longer as he waits for Bilbo to wake as well. They both need their rest and Thorin feels guilty again at having stolen so many hours from him lately.

He watches the Hobbit and when Bilbo finally wakes up he smiles when he catches sight of Thorin.

“Hello.” He murmurs sleepily, blinking a few times to clear his eyes. “I thought you’d have gone down already.”

“Not yet.” Thorin says. “There’s something we must do first.”

Bilbo face grows wary. “Oh?”

“When we feel like getting out of bed of course.” Thorin surveys his old rooms, the layer of dust on everything. “I forgot what it felt like to sleep here. To just lie down and relax for a few minutes.”

Bilbo’s watching him curiously, but he does glance around. Thorin hadn’t been here to see, but he realizes now, in the way that Bilbo only spares a second to look at their surroundings, that the Hobbit had carefully investigated this room sometime earlier. Probably when he’d been readying it enough for them to use.

“It’s been a long time.” Bilbo replies quietly and Thorin nods, rubbing his hair against the pillows with the movement.

“Indeed.” He takes in the tapestry hanging on one wall above the fireplace across from the bed, handsewn by his mother’s request. A fairly faithful replication of his immediate family all standing for a portrait. His mother, his father, his little sister Dís and their younger brother Frerin. And Thorin, of course, standing stoically in the middle of them all.

There had been a tapestry of their family tree in one of his siblings’ rooms. He thinks it was Frerin’s and he wonders if it’s still there.

Apart from the brighter tapestry, the rest of the room is quite plain. His bedding is all a dark navy, trimmed with silver. His family’s colours. There’s a desk in one corner, discarded hair beads, brushes and oils on a vanity dresser. A wardrobe for his clothes, both official wear and unofficial. A chair where he’d often leave his sword and shield after a long day. All are made of dark mahogany wood, pleasing to look at and smooth to the touch. There are a few portraits of family members, his parents, his siblings and his grandparents, but apart from that the room is bare.

He thinks back to Bilbo’s home. It had been filled with things. Furniture and food, clothing, gardening tools, knick knacks, pictures and books… Everything had been clean and dusted, well used and loved. And the fireplaces had all been brightly lit or piled neatly with ash from recent use.

“Back when Erebor thrived this room was my sanctuary.” Thorin confesses to Bilbo, trying to explain how even though this is different from the Shire, it is still a home. These walls must seem so cold to the Hobbit, Thorin realizes. The stone so dark. He tries to let Bilbo picture what it had been like when Thorin was growing up. “When I would want to get away from Grandfather and my duties I would hide in here. Sometimes in the wardrobe, if they came to get me.” He rolls his eyes at his own unoriginality. Dís had always been the one good at hiding. “They found me, usually, but some days Father would pretend he hadn’t and let me stay hidden in there until he’d left to report back to my grandfather.” There’s a tightness in Thorin’s throat as he remembers. “I’d forgotten about that.” He finishes, voice soft.

Bilbo’s watching him closely, taking in every emotion on Thorin’s face. The king can feel it and for a second he’s tempted to try and hide what he’s feeling.

But what would be the point? Bilbo knows him well enough at this stage to guess anyway, and Thorin realizes he enjoys the openness. He likes having somebody to share these things with, someone who will understand when he tells them that this place is more than just home, that it’s the only comfort he’s ever really known.

He turns his head, meets Bilbo’s stare straight on and the Hobbit smiles a tiny smile. Small but warm, affectionate… Loving even.

Thorin doesn’t look away and Bilbo’s smile melts into one more teasing.

“The wardrobe, hmm?” He asks and Thorin smiles back. “I thought princes were taught tactics and strategy. Were those lessons wasted on you?”

Thorin chuckles. “Actually, I enjoyed those.” He thinks back, remembering. “The mock battles were very entertaining as a child.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Bilbo smiles and they lie there together for a few seconds longer, soaking up the warmth under the blankets and the moment between them.

Finally, though Thorin shifts, eager to be moving, and Bilbo notices. “You said we had something to do?”

“It won’t take long,” Thorin promises, swinging out of bed and moving to dress. He does his best not to look at Bilbo doing the same on the other side of the room, but his willpower is only so strong. Still the Hobbit’s back disappears quickly under a blue shirt and Thorin turns away again. “But you’ll enjoy it, I think.”

“I will?”

“Well I hope you do.” Thorin amends, turning around to lead Bilbo out of the room. The door shuts gently behind them and the Dwarf turns to move deeper into the mountain. “This way.”

Bilbo’s quiet on the way and Thorin keeps sneaking glances at him, trying to gauge his mood. The Hobbit seems to grow tenser with every step.

Thorin tries to push those thoughts away. He wants Bilbo to be happy here, to feel as at home in the mountain as he would in the Shire. If Bilbo doesn’t come to see Erebor like the Dwarves do… he’ll want to leave. And that is the last thing Thorin wants.

This seems like a good gesture in making Bilbo see that he will be welcome here.

Thorin stops them outside of a set of large doors that look quite plain in appearance. The doors are a chestnut brown, smooth but for the designs etched on the edge, and Thorin finds they’re still light to the touch when he pushes one open.

The hinges need oiling he notices, wincing at the large squeal they produce, but that is easily done.

He holds the door to the Royal Library open for Bilbo and the Hobbit steps in carefully at first. Once he catches sight of what lies inside though, he hurries forward, and Thorin feels a surge of triumph at having been correct.

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaims excitedly. “Look at these.” He turns in a circle, seeing that the walls are covered in books from floor to ceiling. There’s a balcony between the two floors this room spans, circling the room entirely, and large ladders to reach the highest shelves.

Thorin bows his head, never looking away from Bilbo. “I thought these might please you.” He murmurs.

Bilbo turns to him with shining eyes. “You mean I can read them?”

“Of course.”

Bilbo hurries towards the nearest shelf and brings the first book he touches down to inspect.

Thorin sees him frown when he opens it. Bilbo puts it back, pulling down another one and flipping through it, frown deepening. He grabs another, and then another, finally turning to look back at the Dwarf when he puts them back.

“These are in _Khuzdul_.”

“Many of them are.” Thorin replies moving forwards. “Not all of them. And some are duplicates, one copy written in _Khuzdul_ , the other in Westron.” He pulls down two books, both the same except for the language that filled their pages. “These two for example.”

Bilbo looks up at him, realization dawning in his features. “But- that means that I could-”

“-learn _Khuzdul_?” Thorin asks, preening internally at the excitement filling Bilbo’s face.

He gently replaces the books before looking at Bilbo with all of his attention. “I suppose you could,” he muses, feigning innocence. “I, of course, could have no knowledge of that. It’s forbidden for one of our race to teach another our language. If you were to learn it yourself however…”

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo breathes, his eyes shining with happiness as the full implications of the gift settle in. His grin is more genuine than Thorin has seen since they left the Shire. “Thank you.”

The Dwarf bows his head, feeling just as happy as Bilbo looks. “You cannot teach anyone else, of course.” He reminds Bilbo quietly. “No Elves or Men. Not even other Hobbits.”

“No,” Bilbo shakes his head hurriedly. “Of course not. Oh, Thorin, this means… thank you for this, it means more than I can say.”

Thorin smiles softly back at him, watching as Bilbo looks around at the books in wonder. His stubble can no longer hide the fondness that must be all over his face.

“Good. At least somebody will get some use out of this place in the days to come.” Bilbo looks at him again and their eyes meet. “You deserve something after all you’ve done for us. For me especially. I know you have no special love for gold or jewels but I thought perhaps this…”

“It’s amazing.” Bilbo breathes, and his eyes show the truth in his words. “Truly I can’t…” He laughs, light and carefree. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t,” Thorin says, daring to reach out a hand and lay it on the Hobbit’s arm. Bilbo steps closer. “Just… enjoy. Please. I wish for you to be happy here.”

Bilbo blinks and this time Thorin sees the moisture caught in his eyes. “Oh, Thorin…”

The Dwarf bends down to kiss him before he can finish, and Bilbo responds eagerly, the two of them pressing together. There’s no armour or traveling clothes in the way now, only soft, everyday clothing, and Thorin can feel Bilbo through the material. The softer parts of him around his stomach and lower back, and his harder, more muscular shoulders.

He remembers the few nights they had spent in Lake-town, side by side and giving one another pleasure. It had been enough then, but now Thorin wants all Bilbo can give him, if the Hobbit is agreeable.

Their kiss starts slow and gentle, but it quickly devolves into little more than want and greed, both of them gasping into the other mouths as their tongues take turns exploring. Bilbo’s hands slide under Thorin’s shirt and the Dwarf pulls away with a sucked in breath of air.

“Bilbo…” He says, hesitant to suggest anything untoward, but the Hobbit looks up at him with dark eyes and a glistening mouth.

“Bedroom?” Bilbo suggests and Thorin nods, surging forward to kiss him again.

He feels the Hobbit laughing under his lips, but it ends in a surprised yelp when Thorin bends his knees to grab Bilbo under his own, pulling the Hobbit up to wrap his legs around Thorin’s waist as the Dwarf walks them back to their chambers.

Bilbo groans in appreciation and their lips don’t stop moving against each other’s. It takes ages for Thorin to navigate back to their room and eventually he needs to pull away and open his eyes to make sure they aren’t going to run into a wall or over the edge of a walkway.

Bilbo buries his face in Thorin’s neck, proving that it’s not only his lips that are a distraction, but his tongue as well, and Thorin tilts his head, groaning deeply in appreciation.

He practically kicks down his own door and he hears it slam closed from being kicked again behind them. Then they’re moving towards the bed and Thorin is bending down, gently placing Bilbo on the mattress and crawling up over him so that their lips can reconnect.

It’s a primal hunger, a primitive need that fills him, but he relishes it. Bilbo seems just as lost, pulling impatiently at the hem of Thorin’s dark shirt, which he eagerly pulls off. Small hands greedily take in the newly exposed skin and lips press against his neck, down to his collarbone and then his chest and Thorin throws his head back at the feeling of being devoured.

“Off,” he asks, tugging at Bilbo’s own shirt, and the Hobbit happily obliges, throwing the offensive material as far away as he can. His trousers are next and Thorin shivers when he sees the tent of Bilbo’s smallclothes.

He moans when Bilbo pulls him down and ruts against him.

Trying to regain control of his mind and body, he pulls away from Bilbo’s lips to kiss down his neck, sucking deeply at the juncture between neck and shoulder. Bilbo seems to like it, his hips thrust and his mouth lets a mewl escape, and Thorin grins and sucks harder before swiping the slight pain away with his tongue.

He moves down, kissing and sucking his way from the top of Bilbo’s chest to his stomach. His tongue swirls the Hobbits belly button and then moves south again, stopping only at the edge of the smallclothes.

“Off.” He requests again, voice deep and cracking and Bilbo’s eyes darken further at the sound.

Thorin tugs again and the smallclothes disappear without protest.

He moves down, letting his breath warm the light curls at Bilbo’s groin. He kisses the hair there, curious to feel it, and finds it’s much the same texture as his own. And lighter in colour of course. But softer and darker than that on Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo groans, throwing his head back and pleading, “Thorin.”

He grins, kissing around where Bilbo wants him most. And then, because he’s evil enough to do anything to keep those sounds coming from Bilbo, he moves over to Bilbo’s inner thigh, kissing a trail downwards to his knee and lower until he presses his lips against the side of Bilbo’s foot.

The Hobbit gasps and his hands clench the quilts.

Thorin grins wider and moves to the other foot. His pace is slow and attentive and Bilbo writhes beneath him. Thorin ignores the pleas and threats and keeps moving steadily, kissing, licking and sucking up the inner side of Bilbo’s left leg. Goosebumps break out across the skin and disappear within the time.

Finally, after Bilbo’s given up cursing and is only panting, Thorin hovers over him, eyes flicking up to meet the Hobbit’s own a split second before he opens his mouth and swallows him down.

And down and down, as far as Thorin can go. He feels Bilbo hit the back of his throat and keeps going, eager and hungry for more. His tongue is moving as well as it can with the little space it has left in his mouth, but it’s enough to make Bilbo’s eyes fly open and the Hobbit arches back.

“Thorin!” He keens softly and Thorin sucks hard at the sound of his name dripping from those lips.

He still has his own trousers on, for Mahal’s sake.

With one arm he keeps himself propped up on the bed, still sucking hard, and with the other he moves to press against himself, needing the friction. It makes him groan and the feeling of doing that with Bilbo’s cock in his mouth only makes his pleasure heighten.

Bilbo seems too far gone for words, only breathing heavily and making noises of encouragement.

Thorin hurriedly pulls at his own laces and kicks his trousers off, his smallclothes following. When he’s finally as naked as his partner he gives one last suck, pulling at himself as he does and they both groan helplessly.

The Dwarf releases Bilbo with a pop and they’re both panting when he moves back up to capture Bilbo’s lips with his own. They’re swollen and that only increases the pleasure of kissing Bilbo thoroughly and recklessly.

“Thorin.” Bilbo gasps, hands finding the base of his spine, just above his buttocks and pulls as if to get him closer. “Please.”

Thorin meets his eyes. “You’re sure?”

Bilbo nods, pupils blown and mouth shining. “Now. Do you have…?”

He trails off as Thorin hurriedly gets up and walks the few steps to his vanity, grabbing a bottle of hair oil. “Will this do for now?” He murmurs, hurrying to crawl back over Bilbo and the Hobbit nods, just as frenzied.

The lid comes off with a pop and Bilbo grabs the bottle, slicking his hands with oil and then grabbing Thorin’s cock firmly, making the Dwarf’s arms shudder as he almost falls on the Hobbit.

“Ah,” he groans and Bilbo squeezes his cock slightly again, making his arms shake harder as they almost give out underneath him.

It feels better than anything he’s felt before and Thorin already feels close to the edge, even though Bilbo’s hardly touched him. “Hurry,” he mutters while sucking Bilbo’s neck some more. “Won’t last.”

“Me neither.” Bilbo responds, releasing Thorin to reach around and ready himself. Thorin sits back, watching the sight with hungry eyes, unable to stop touching Bilbo’s chest and stomach as the Hobbit lets his head fall back from whatever he’s feeling.

“Okay.” Bilbo says eventually as he brings his hands back up to touch Thorin. They’re coated in oil and the sheets beneath the two of them are dirty and slick but Thorin really can’t care less about the mess. “Now.”

They don’t waste any time and Bilbo lines Thorin up easily. He hesitates only a second, meeting Bilbo’s eyes to make sure one last time, the question plain and clear to read in his own.

Bilbo nods with a smile before pulling Thorin back down to kiss him senselessly.

With a push of Thorin’s hips the head is in and Bilbo gasps and grounds downwards, trying to meet Thorin and quicken the slow pace the Dwarf sets.

Both of them are close, he can feel it, and their eyes meet once more, dark and tender.

Finally, they’re joined and Thorin moves slowly at first in small barely restrained thrusts. But Bilbo keeps pulling him deeper, angling his hips to get a better angle, and Thorin growls, his control slipping.

They move faster, skin slapping together, panting, groaning and moaning in tandem and Thorin’s mind is going blank. All he can think of is Bilbo against him, around him. All he knows is this feeling, the warmth between them, the need and the tenderness. The tightness, oh _Mahal_ …

When he’s at the precipice all it takes is Bilbo crying, “Thorin!” to send him over. He shudders, pulsing, and his moan is deep and guttural.

Bilbo’s muscles clench and with a low sound he finishes moments later.

They’re sweaty and Thorin’s arms are sore, but he’s content in a way he can’t remember being before. Carefully he pulls away and Bilbo lets him, his eyelids drooping but looking happier than Thorin’s ever seen him.

“Mmm.” The Hobbit sighs and speaks in a murmur. “Will the others notice when we don’t come down?”

Thorin pulls Bilbo closer. Not with any intent of anything sexual, not again so soon, just wanting to touch. They end up spooning, Thorin inhaling the smell of Bilbo on the pillow and resting his head against Bilbo’s shoulders. “Let them.” He growls, already falling asleep. Bilbo answers quietly but the words are lost as Thorin’s consciousness fades.

But, as he said, things quickly go downhill.

The gold sickness grows stronger. It’s as if once Thorin feels secure that Bilbo is _his,_ the worry that the Hobbit will leave disappears. Certain in the knowledge that Bilbo has things keeping him in Erebor, Thorin’s mind focuses on the gold and the Arkenstone once again. So much so that he stops noticing when Bilbo no longer sleeps with him; mainly because Thorin isn’t getting much sleep anymore himself. He would blame his bad mood on the tiredness, but the truth is it started long before he stopped sleeping regularly.

He’s ashamed of himself after the moment with Bilbo and the acorn. That makes twice now that he’s accused Bilbo of keeping something from him, and twice that Bilbo has proved him wrong. But he can’t help it. He sees the stone’s glitter in the corner of his eye everywhere he goes. Everybody looks guilty and won’t meet his gaze, and he hates it because it’s starting to make him feel crazy.

But the moment with the acorn is the lowest he’s sunk to and shame fills him quickly. Bilbo only wants something to commemorate the trip. Not even gold or jewels- just a simple acorn. That’s his prize, the item that he’s kept safe throughout their long journey.

_“I was going to try and plant it here, but I can’t think of a place to do it.” He’d told Thorin. “Maybe when I go back to Bag End I’ll plant it in the garden there.”_

_“Go back?” Thorin had asked, panic seizing him, and Bilbo had hurried to clarify._

_“For my things.” He said slowly and clearly, making Thorin relax._

He’s never met anybody like Bilbo. Never known a creature to value home and its comforts over wealth and power. Bilbo is so caring and honest and open, and Thorin is drawn in by that like a bug to flame. It helps that the Hobbit is strong, loyal and brave.

But it’s how he makes Thorin feel that is so attractive to the Dwarf and he’s greedy to keep that near him. He needs that kind of happiness and morality around, especially now that he’s king.

He sees the fear in Bilbo’s eyes though, and he’s not blind to the wary way the other Dwarves are treating him. But the days go on and war gets closer, and Thorin feels angry all the time and lonelier and lonelier, and the others become easier to ignore or to blame.

Bilbo tries, Thorin knows he does. But Thorin is also able to chalk Bilbo’s indifference to the Arkenstone up to Bilbo being a Hobbit. They just don’t seem to feel the same way about wealth that Dwarves do. No wonder Bilbo would rather spend time in the library than the treasure hall; it’s just his way. He tries to keep Bilbo away from the gold, and doesn’t ask him to look for the stone like the others, to keep Bilbo happy.

Time goes on, and Thorin sends the ravens to Dain of the Iron Hills asking for aid in a war against Men and Elves.

When the moment comes and they’re all getting dressed for war Thorin finds himself hesitating, if only for a moment. What is he doing? Causing a war over a handful of gold? What the Men want- what they’re owed- wouldn’t make a dent in all of Erebor’s wealth and still he is willing to fight over it? To risk the lives of those he loves?

Then he sees Bilbo standing down the hallway and the mithril is already in Thorin’s hands. Instead of taking it for himself, like he had planned, he’s overcome with the sudden fear of something happening to Bilbo.

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s giving the impenetrable armour to the Hobbit. It’s a priceless gift, something Thorin knows Bilbo doesn’t realize right now, but he prefers it that way. It would make the Hobbit uncomfortable to know the metal’s worth and Thorin likes seeing him dressed in gifts Thorin’s given him.

It’s not as if he’s giving it to Bilbo so the Hobbit is indebted to him in any way. It’s the perfect first courting gift, something the Dwarf has wanted to mention soon, and practical as well. Thorin needs to know that Bilbo will be safe along with all of his other treasure, and the mithril is the best way of doing that.

If the other Dwarves are looking at them with realization, well, that’s fine too. He might as well make the statement public as soon as possible. Something that tells everyone that Bilbo is unavailable to outside further romantic pursuits. The mithril will make it unmistakeable as to who the gift is from. Only the King of Erebor holds such a treasure in his possession.

“I look ridiculous.” Bilbo says to them all, and Thorin shakes his head in refusal. He thinks Bilbo looks glorious, and the fact that he will be well protected in the shirt of armour only make it better.

He’s being irrational, he knows. To anyone else the Hobbit will look a bit silly with the sleeves hanging over his hands and the shirt ending at his knees, but Thorin fills with warmth at the sight.

All of his treasures kept in one place, he thinks, looking at the mithril. It pleases Thorin to see Bilbo wearing his things, a possessive sort of pride that he supposes Dwarves are known for. But it’s there, for all to see, and he knows that when anyone encounters Bilbo this shirt will be a clear claim to everybody.

The other Dwarves look at them, some with amusement, some with dark faces and others with confusion, glancing between the pair. It appears he and Bilbo had been more subtle than he’d thought.

Thorin doesn’t hate it. In fact there’s a surge of pride from being able to declare that Bilbo is his and that he belongs to the Hobbit in return.

When the armies line up outside of his door the Dwarves of Erebor meet them with Bilbo by their side in full armour. Thorin feels confident and sure in his position. He has the Dwarves by his side, and Bilbo is one of them now, more than ever before. Thorin is king and nobody would deny him his One now. The Arkenstone is somewhere in the mountain amongst his wealth of gold and gems. His people are coming.

Yes, Thorin feels secure as he yells down to Thranduil and Bard the Dragonslayer from up on top of the rampart.

That feeling quickly leaves him.

It’s an odd thing, betrayal. It can happen to you many times and it will still never dull the pain when it happens again. Thorin is no stranger to the feeling and he’d thought he’d gotten used to it by now.

Every time someone had turned Thorin and his people away after Smaug came he’d known the feeling of disappointed hopes. He and the Dwarves of Erebor had been abandoned and betrayed again and again. They knew the feeling well.

Other betrayals had been just as hard to bear. When only twelve Dwarves answered his call to come reclaim the mountain. When his father had disappeared and never been seen again. When his grandfather had gone mad with gold sickness and refused to listen to anyone around him. When Dís had told him to give up his dreams of reclaiming Erebor and settle into life in the Blue Mountains.

Thorin was a fool. No betrayal he’d felt before hurt half as much as what he feels when Bilbo steps forward and confesses that he’d given Bard and Thranduil the Arkenstone. Perhaps because no betrayal had come from someone in possession of Thorin’s whole heart before.

A hush falls over the Dwarves on the rampart but Thorin doesn’t notice. All he knows is that he’s staring at Bilbo in disbelief, unable to hear anything but the words spoken between them and the pounding of his own heart.

There’s a tightness in his chest that might be fear or it might be heartache.

“You…” He breathes and Bilbo flinches at whatever he sees in Thorin’s face.

The king feels numb. He can’t help but think this is some kind of joke, and his voice is full of so many things.

Hurt, anger, betrayal. But also hope that it’s not true. Anger at himself for being so blind and not seeing it. Has he been so sure of his own feelings for Bilbo that he’s confused himself into thinking that Bilbo feels the same?

In the blink of an eye rage fills him. Mostly it’s anger at himself for being so stupid and gullible, for opening himself, his heart and his home-

He shies away from finishing the thought, instead grabbing Bilbo roughly and dragging him to lay on the edge of the gate, head hanging hundreds of feet in the air.

_Stop me,_ he wants to scream. But he can’t choke out the words, all he knows is that Bilbo stole from him, Bilbo lied, everything he’d thought, everything between them was false, and now the Men and Elves had the _Arkenstone_ -

He feels like he’s being torn apart. Stabbed from the inside out. His heart is pounding rapidly, his blood is roaring and Thorin hurts, he feels sick to his stomach.

Bilbo looks back at him, meeting his eyes with terror shining clearly in his own.

_I thought you loved me,_ Thorin thinks and Bilbo’s eyes are watering, whether from fear or something else Thorin will never know. _I thought it wasn’t about the treasure for you._

How foolish he is.

Bilbo spoke to him of loyalty and doubting his kin, but Thorin has been right to doubt. He just hadn’t thought the person who would do such a thing to him would be the one he holds dearest in his heart.

Thorin had been _right_.

Oh Valar, he wishes he hadn’t.

There’s a pain too hard to bear inside of him but when Gandalf calls up from below there’s relief too. With all the strength Thorin has left he drops Bilbo to the ground and focuses on the Wizard because he can’t- he can’t stand the thought of killing or hurting Bilbo, even after what he’s done. But he can’t look at him anymore either.

Everything hurts and is numb at once, and Thorin doesn’t know how that can be possible.

He sees Bilbo scurry down the rope from the corner of his eye and he curses Gandalf and Wizards and Hobbits. He wishes he’d never met the lot of them.

Before anything gets resolved Dain shows up, and then the orcs led by Azog. Thorin retreats to the Hall of Kings to think while the battle rages outside of Erebor’s walls. He needs a moment, just a second to wrap his head around Bilbo being the one to keep the Arkenstone from him.

Even now his heart is hurting for Bilbo. He yearns to find him, to be close to him and listen so that they can work everything out but Thorin’s pride is too strong for that.

Voices whisper in his mind, the now familiar voices of the gold and his grandfather, and the crown on his head is heavy. He feels like he’s drowning amongst the gold, like it’s all gone soft beneath him and he’s sinking. He imagines Smaug slithering through the molten metal and fear pierces him, fear and realization that he is in fact just like his grandfather-

And that realization is enough to clear Thorin’s mind. Memories from years ago linger to taunt him, of when he and the rest of his family spent evenings arguing uselessly with his grandfather. Begging and pleading with him to spread some of their wealth, to heed the warnings of the other races and their own councillors.

What had Thorin become? Threatening his friends, ignoring their advice, suspecting his own family of treachery… As he stands there in that hall, his kin are fighting to defend Erebor for him. While he does nothing.

It hits him how low he has fallen since coming back to Erebor.

-which makes him decide to lead the charge of the Erebor Dwarves into battle.

Only to end up here, lying on the ice with Bilbo cradling his body.

The memories of their journey all flash through Thorin’s mind as Bilbo’s voice fades away beside him and his heart slows. The battle rages on below, people are screaming and dying, and Azog lies lifeless only feet away.

But all Thorin can think of in his last moments of clarity is Bilbo above him, Bilbo at Beorn’s house, Bilbo in his bed in Erebor.

_You gave them the stone to try and save me,_ he wants to say. _I understand now._

But the words don’t come.

His mind goes black, the pain surges up and grips him tighter than ever before, and then Thorin Oakenshield fades.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Khuzdûl in this story is italicized and has been taken from islenthatur's fic Collection of Khuzdul, and khuzdul4u's masterpost on Tumblr. I will list and define the Khuzdûl used in chapters in the chapter notes.
> 
> Madtithbirzul- little golden heart  
> Namadinùdoy – sister-son

When he wakes he is in more agony than he can ever remember feeling before.

He groans, eyes fluttering before he manages to open the lids and squint at the sudden light. He’s in a tent, so it’s not that bright, but after hours of sleep a mere candle flame would seem as blinding as the sun to Thorin.

There’s pressure on his chest, like somebody is sitting on it, making it hard to breathe, but when Thorin’s eyes adjust for him to look there is nothing but bandages.

His entire body feels like it’s been smacked by a smithy’s hammer.

“You bloody fool,” Balin says tearily from beside him, which is how Thorin knows the old Dwarf is happy he’s alive.

When he glances over he sees Balin sitting on a stool beside the makeshift cot Thorin is on. When their eyes meet Thorin finds nothing but relief in his old friend.

“Azog?” He rasps, making Balin grab a cup of water and pitcher and hurriedly pour water from one into the other, before he places the cup at Thorin’s lips so he can drink slowly. He manages a few small sips, feeling it soothe his throat, before pulling his head away.

“Dead.” Balin replies. “You killed him. Thorin, you _bloody_ fool, you almost-” Balin takes a deep shaky breath. “Do you know how worried we’ve all been? Kíli and Fíli have been frantic.”

Thorin’s face lights up and he would have sat straight if it didn’t feel like he was ripping his own stomach apart. “They made it?”

He’d seen Fíli fall from Azog’s grip and he’d thought- he’d been sure-

“We all did.” Balin hesitates. “Heavy losses from all sides, but the Company lived through it at least.”

“Bilbo?”

Balin’s face shutters, causing Thorin’s heart to stutter. “Balin?”

“Alive.” The old Dwarf says. “But-”

Óin bustles in at that moment, looking tired and stooped from carrying pots filled with various poultices and medicines, causing Balin to cut off sharply. When the healer sees that Thorin is awake and talking his face lights up and he starts speaking excitedly.

Thorin smiles, though now that the fog has begun to clear from his mind he looks around the tent again, wondering why only Balin is here. Wondering many things.

He wants to ask about Bilbo. Whether he was hurt, where he is now, who he’s staying with. He wants to ask whether he’s already left for the Shire, as he’s surely getting ready to do, but he’s too scared of the answer.

Guilt and shame fill him when he thinks of the Halfling. The longing he feels only makes his pain worse, because he knows after everything that has happened he has no right to expect or ask anything from the Hobbit anymore.

He remembers his words on the ice at the bottom of Ravenhill, and the way Bilbo had looked at him, had held him. And he wonders…

Bandages are checked and Óin asks him questions about how he feels, what happened, what he remembers, and Thorin answers the best he can, all the while thinking of the Hobbit. The two Dwarves leave briefly to give him some privacy before coming back and replacing his chamber pot with a clean one, and when they do Thorin’s curiosity about their friends has only grown.

Balin tells him about the rest of the Company, all except Bilbo, and Thorin notices the oversight immediately. It makes the bad feeling grow, because the only reason Balin would avoid the subject would be to try and spare Thorin worry in his current state. But he had said the entire Company survived, so what can be stopping Balin from telling Thorin about Bilbo, the king does not know.

Óin gives him something to drink, quenching both Thorin’s slight hunger and his thirst, and it makes him fall asleep quickly, too quickly for any further questions to escape the king’s lips.

* * *

But the next time Thorin wakes up it is Kíli and Fíli at his side.

“Uncle!” Fíli says happily, but his voice is low. He’s laying on a cot that’s been moved to lie beside Thorin’s. Thorin wonders how long he’d slept.

“Fíli,” Thorin says back, eyes raking over his nephew’s form, his deep grief and pool of guilt coming back stronger than ever. They seem to be his constant companions these days, Thorin thinks, as he takes in the bandages and casts all over his nephew’s body.

The Dwarf’s legs are both broken. His chest is entirely wrapped, making Thorin suspect broken or cracked ribs, perhaps something worse. Thorin dearly hopes nothing’s wrong with his nephew’s spine. The stab wound seems heavily covered, and there’s a bandage around Fíli ’s head. Thorin takes in the partially shaved hair and feels like he’s being pierced by Azog’s blade all over again.

“Oh nephew.” He breathes softly. “What have I done to you?”

Fíli only rolls his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed, which makes Thorin feel worse. “This wasn’t your fault, Uncle.”

Thorin laughs bitterly. “Was it not? Tell me, was it someone else who fell to gold sickness in our party?”

His nephew’s face clouds over but he can’t deny Thorin’s words. “That’s not-”

“Spare me, Fíli.” Thorin is drowning in sorrow and it comes out clearly for them both to hear in his tone. “I know what I have done.”

“You saved us all.” Fíli argues weakly. “Azog is dead, Erebor is reclaimed, we survived. And Dwarves, Men and Elves are working together.” Fíli ’s eyes sparkle. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“The Elves?” Thorin asks, eyes shooting over to Fíli ’s as he slowly sits up. It doesn’t hurt quite as much as before, making him wonder how long he was asleep, and his body is aching from being in the same position for so long. “They have not left?”

Fíli’s eyes shoot to Kíli, who is sitting on the stool between their two beds. He’s asleep, slumped over onto Fíli’s mattress, hair spread out messily as he breathes deeply. “Kíli’s partially to thank for that.”

Thorin greedily takes in the sight of Kíli. His arm is bandaged, and there are cuts and bruises here and there, but he seems to have escaped the battle relatively unscathed, especially compared to his brother and uncle.

Relief sweeps through him. Balin had told him Fíli and Kíli were alive, but seeing it for himself made it easier to wrap his head around and actually believe. Dís would have murdered him thrice over for getting her sons killed, and he’d been so sure up on Ravenhill that the worst had happened.

Thorin winces, glancing at Fíli. Knowing Dís she’ll still murder him for the state of her eldest.

It takes him a couple of seconds to understand what Fíli just said, but when he does, he looks over sharply. Kíli and the Elves? He thinks back, remembering their time in the dungeons of Mirkwood, and suspicion begins to fill him. “What do you mean by that?”

His nephew hesitates. “I’ll let Kíli be the one to tell you, but he’s been one of the only Dwarves that the Elves will talk to. He’s been a godsend, especially for Bilbo who was being run off his feet with all of the back and forth.”

Thorin jumps on the new information greedily, all worry about Kíli and a certain Elf captain from the dungeons disappearing for the moment. “Bilbo?”

His nephew’s face darkens further, and it looks like he might physically be biting his tongue. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to-”

“What of Bilbo?” Thorin demands.

Fíli looks away shiftily. “Nothing, really.” He hesitates before finally admitting. “He’s sort of been the mediator between us all. Dwarves, Men and Elves.”

“He’s unharmed?” Thorin presses. “Come now Fíli, have you seen him?”

The light-haired Dwarf nods. “He got a bit of a blow to the head and I think an Elf arrow skimmed him but apart from that… no injuries.”

Relief fills Thorin once more. The corners of his mouth turn up at a sudden thought. “He’s been mediating between everybody has he?”

Putting up with the lot of them for months on end must have helped Bilbo develop some patience, Thorin thinks. All of the squabbles and bickering and encounters with Elves, Beorn and the Men of Lake-town have more than given Bilbo a chance to prove his skills in the department of settling conflicts.

But Thorin’s grin falls as quickly as it came.

For all of Bilbo’s tact and manners, the Hobbit still hadn’t been able to stop Thorin from almost killing him at the gate.

Again, his last conversation with Bilbo comes to mind and Thorin wonders what the Hobbit must think of him now. He’d been so sure Bilbo would hate him, should hate him; yet up on Ravenhill he’d seemed so worried. But Thorin knows that they both thought he would die up there and any words Bilbo said can’t be taken too seriously. The Hobbit might only have been trying to ease his passing.

It doesn’t make Thorin want to see him any less. He needs to apologize. He needs to know if there’s a chance- if there’s any way Bilbo could forgive him and they could just… talk.

Thorin doesn’t expect love. He can’t, not after everything. But perhaps friendship is still possible? A comradery?

Without the Dragon sickness to muddle his mind Thorin feels more awake and present than he has in days. With everything that’s happened he knows now what’s important. It’s not the gold, or the Arkenstone. It’s not even Erebor, with its empty rooms. Not compared to what really makes the Lonely Mountain home.

Bilbo had been right when Thorin asked him what he thought was worth dying for. Loved ones will always be at the top of the list because without them everything else is meaningless.

He looks back at Fíli and Kíli. The former has slipped into a light sleep from waiting for his uncle to answer, and the latter still breathes softly, eyes moving from dreams beneath his eyelids.

Thorin tilts his head back to rest against the large pillow behind him, biting his cheek softly as he thinks. About Bilbo, mainly, but also Erebor and Thranduil and Bard. He wonders if Dís has been told of the Dwarves’ victory, and then he wonders about Dáin, and whether he had survived as well.

Sleep comes to him again swiftly, and before he knows it the worries leave him to be replaced by dreams.

* * *

Thorin continues to fall in and out of sleep for a couple more days but when he finally wakes up for good it’s five days after the battle.

He’s met with the sight of Dwalin and Kíli, and after the former insults him relentlessly for a minute or two, Thorin’s nephew comes to his defense and smiles widely while giving him a one-armed hug.

“I knew you’d make it, Uncle. I was telling everybody not to worry.”

“Were you now?”

Dwalin rolls his eyes. “Too full of energy this one is. He nearly gets stabbed fighting in one of the largest battles Erebor has seen and he’s still wandering around like he’s only a Dwarfling.”

Thorin shakes his head at the two of them and takes in Fíli sleeping soundly beside them before turning to Dwalin’s armour and cocking an eyebrow. The Dwarf is standing with his axe resting upside down on the ground, hands balanced on the butt of it’s handle.

“Expecting to be attacked again so soon?”

His old friend shifts with a frown crossing his face. “There’s Elves about,” he says quietly like it’s some secret. “Can’t be too careful.”

Thorin feels Kíli’s arm tense around him and looks up in time to see irritation cross his younger nephew’s features. “You can’t be serious-”

“Enough.” Thorin commands before a fight can begin. He looks at Kíli curiously. “Fíli told me you’ve been helping us negotiate with the Elves and Men.”

Kíli pulls his arm back slowly to stand up straighter, his expression morphing from anger to muted pride. “Er, a bit.”

“More than a bit,” Dwalin mutters. “Given that you’re sharing a bed with one of them.”

Kíli’s face turns red immediately and Thorin sits up straight so fast it makes him clench his teeth in pain. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Kíli exclaims. “Dwalin’s being ridiculous. I’m not sharing a bed with her-”

“Her?” Thorin’s eyes narrow as his suspicion is confirmed. “The captain?”

“Her name,” Kíli says quietly, “is Tauriel.”

“I don’t give a damn what her name is,” Thorin replies. “You’re sharing a tent with her?”

Kíli flushes darker. “I’m not. Or well, I am but not a bed. We’re just-”

“They’re a pair of besotted fools, Thorin.” Dwalin growls. “Kíli ’s going around telling us all that she’s his One.”

Thorin goes cold and Kíli makes a choked sound as he glares at the warrior.

“Your One?” The king eventually demands once he regains use of his tongue.

His mind races as he tries to remember the Elf dungeons. He hadn’t been able to see Kíli and the Elf speaking, but all of the Dwarves had heard about their multiple conversations in the days they’d been down there. Their exact words hadn’t been loud enough to make out, but the warm and eventually friendly tones had been clear enough to reach them all.

“Kíli …” He starts while feeling dread overcoming him. If he was in a better state he would probably be furious, but his body is still tired, and he remembers the last time he went into a blind rage without listening to anyone else all too well. The feeling of Bilbo shaking in his hands with his head hanging hundreds of feet in the air is still too fresh in his memory, and the shame that comes with it too acute.

But he also remembers his conversation with Bilbo from Mirkwood. What Thorin had said then holds just as true now. Dwarves and Elves had never been friends. Allies yes, when necessary, but distance had been kept between their peoples for a reason. Elves didn’t care about mortal lives, they saw them as worthless, powerless to create real change in the fate of others.

“It’s true.” Kíli insists turning to meet his eyes. Thorin takes in the old brown shirt and dark trousers he’s wearing absently, noting they must have been scrounged from Erebor. Kíli’s hair is newly washed and his bruises have begun to fade. His arm is still bandaged but he’s moving around easily enough so it must not be hurting him too badly. “I know what I feel.”

Thorin looks at Kíli steadily, taking in the earnestness there, a seriousness that he doesn’t associate with Dís’ youngest son. Kíli has always been the more mischievous and easy-going Dwarf of the two brothers, not feeling the weight of the crown as keenly as Fíli.

But now he seems grounded and calm in a way Thorin has never seen before.

It could be from their journey and the battle, but Thorin thinks not. It’s something else, something… deeper.

Displeasure is quick to curdle in his stomach and he finally looks away from Kíli to Dwalin.

“Leave us.”

Dwalin looks between the two of them before nodding. “Aye,” he agrees and picks up his axe. He bows his head to Thorin. “I’ll just be outside then.”

Thorin nods and his friend retreats quietly, but Thorin hardly notices as he turns to meet his nephew’s eyes.

He works to keep his temper under control, taking a deep breath. Bilbo would be proud he thinks, as he finally nods to Kíli who sits on the bedside stool.

“You’ll need to explain this to me.”

Kíli’s face lights up and Thorin feels himself relax a bit at the sight. This is still his nephew, no matter who holds claim to his heart. The least he’ll do is hear him out.

“You mean you’ll listen?”

“That is all I can promise,” Thorin warns. “But if I’ve learned anything lately it’s that listening can prevent most, if not all arguments.” He lets out a deep and tired breath. “And I am in no mood to fight again so soon. So, you will speak, and I will listen, and after… we will figure this out.”

Kíli smiles widely before leaning forward and looking serious again. “I mean it. I love her, Uncle, and she is my One.”

Thorin purses his lips, pushing away the urge to recoil at the words. “The Elf captain who took us prisoner in Mirkwood.”

Kíli looks a bit sheepish at the reminder but his resolve doesn’t waver. “Yes, Tauriel. She was Thranduil’s Captain of the Guard but he’s banished her.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow. “And why would he do that? She seemed an accomplished fighter.”

“She is.” Kíli agrees hurriedly. “Uncle, I wonder if you remember us telling you who cured my wound from the orc’s poisoned arrow?”

Thorin frowns and thinks back. He searches his memory but can’t find any instance during his gold sickness where he’d been told what happened to the others back in Lake-town before Smaug died; he can’t remember asking. “I do not.”

“She left Mirkwood to hunt the Orcs, following us against the wishes of Thranduil.” Kíli says. “The prince followed her.”

Thorin lets his distaste show. Despite the grudging respect he felt for Legolas Greenleaf after saving his life in the battle, he feels it will take much more time before either of them forgets their first meeting and forgives their insults.

“They tracked the Orcs to Lake-town before they attacked us at Bard’s. He’d taken us back in after you lot had all left. I was getting worse and I can’t remember everything clearly, but I know Tauriel stayed to save me.” Kíli Looks down and smiles, and it’s a very private, soft look that’s on his face. One that makes Thorin feel more certain that this newfound maturity in Kíli is not only from the battle. “Legolas went after Bolg, but Tauriel stayed to help me. I probably would have died otherwise. Even Óin said her elf-magic was a sight to behold.”

“Was it now,” Thorin mutters, but it’s not nearly as bitter as it usually would have been. He cannot regret anything that saved Kíli’s life.

His nephew looks up, mouth opening to respond and Thorin sighs, speaking before he can. “Continue, please.”

Kíli hesitates but does as he’s asked. “She tried to get us all out of Lake-town when the Dragon came and attacked, but we didn’t make it far. Luckily Bard shot Smaug down before any of us were harmed.” His voice turns reminiscent. “After I left it wasn’t until the battle that I saw her again. It was on Ravenhill, she’d come to warn us of Bolg and the second Orc army coming. Fíli had just fallen and I thought he was dead. It made me frantic. I went after Azog but Bolg found me first. Tauriel helped me get away from him, though I think it was Legolas who actually killed the filth in the end.” Kíli frowns. “I was injured from my wounds and needed healers. She brought me down to the tents and saved my life. Again.”

“And from this brief period together,” Thorin says slowly, “you believe you’ve fallen in love?”

Kíli sighs, obviously used to the doubts. “I can’t explain it. I think I fell in love with her in the dungeons before we escaped. Everything she said down there… it was like we already knew each other and were only reuniting now. I know it wasn’t long but I just… I knew.”

Unwittingly Thorin thinks of Bilbo and how he’d avoided the Hobbit as best he could in the beginning of their journey, because even back then he’d known getting attached to Bilbo Baggins would be…. irreversible. He remembers how quickly his feelings for Bilbo had grown after he’d stopped ignoring him, and how there is a place in him now that belongs solely to the Hobbit and nobody else.

He swallows dryly.

It seemed the line of Durin have been blessed. For a Dwarf to have a One was rare in itself, but for Thorin, his sister, and his nephew to have been made to find their other halves… Any other Dwarf would hail it as a miracle.

Perhaps it was their bloodline, he muses. Grandfather had been Grandmother’s One after all. And though his father and mother had not been created to have Ones they had still been deeply in love.

But for a Dwarf to have a One outside of their species… that is unheard of in Durin’s line and extremely rare even among common Dwarves. And now they have two cases of it.

Again, he thinks of Bilbo.

“Kíli.” His voice is grave. “My own feelings on the matter aside, you must prepare yourself. I may be king, but there are things even I cannot do, and changing Dwarves’ perception of Elves overnight is one of them. I wouldn’t think anybody would deny you your One, no matter what race they may be, but before you and… Tauriel go and do anything drastic I need you to be sure, _madtithbirzul_.”

His eyes search Kíli’s, both of them more serious than Thorin can ever remember. “You wouldn’t spread these claims lightly, I know that, but you are young still. If there is any doubt in you, any misgivings in your heart, you need to tell me.” Thorin’s tone turns regretful. “It’s not only your life that others will scrutinize, but our entire family, our entire line. The monarchy will come under question. For that, I need you to think and be certain, _namadinùdoy._ ”

Kíli meets his eyes steadily. “I know it’s hard for you to believe me, Uncle.” His voice is soft but no less earnest because of that. “But it’s true. I’ve already taken everything into account.” His next words are wry. “Tauriel has already suffered the scrutiny and scorn of her people. I know what is to come. But it’s worth it.” He straightens. “She’s my One. Mahal forged us as one and the same. I know it in a place deep within me, deeper than my heart.”

“It’s true.”

Fíli’s voice makes them both jump and the older brother grins teasingly from where he lies with his head turned to meet their stares.

“He’s in love with her, the fool. I’ve never seen him so enamoured, and I know him better than anybody.” He frowns. “Or I used to anyway.”

Kíli shoves him lightly, too light to hurt him in any way but enough to get the point across. “Don’t get sappy.”

“Is that your job now?” Fíli asks innocently and Kíli narrows his eyes playfully before Thorin interrupts.

“Kíli.” Both brothers turn to look back at him but it’s Kíli that Thorin watches. “This could have grave consequences.”

“If I have to leave Erebor, I will.” Kíli says resolutely and Thorin blanches at the words. “I’ve made my choice, Uncle.”

“And when you grow old?” Thorin demands. “She is immortal, she will outlive you. She may find another.”

Kíli’s voice is gentle and his eyes are soft, with understanding shining in them. “I know what she is, Thorin. But a life with love is better than one without it, no matter how short it may be.”

Speechless is not a word often used to describe Thorin but as his mind races he finds it is what best describes him in that moment. It appears Kíli and this… Tauriel have truly thought this out. They haven’t entered into it lightly, and if she’s truly Kíli’s One then there isn’t anything Thorin can (or would do) to stand in their way.

“It seems I cannot stop you.” He murmurs finally and Kíli lights up, making Thorin’s eyes narrow. “But until things settle, I would appreciate it if you could both avoid drawing attention to your situation. I have enough to worry about at present.” He rubs his face tiredly before the corners of his mouth twitch up. “And you’re the one who has to explain it all to your mother.”

Fear replaces the joy on Kíli’s face and Fíli lets out a laugh.

A smug satisfaction fills Thorin and he crosses his arms as the boys begin to bicker. His mind races, wondering what he’ll have to do to make this union feasible. A royal marriage is usually cause for celebration but in this case…

Well he can figure that out when it comes to it. There hasn’t been any mention of marriage yet and Thorin is content to let it stay that way for as long as possible. His feelings for Bilbo might make him more understanding of the situation than he had been before their journey, but he won’t go around handing out marriage invitations anytime soon.

Speaking of Bilbo.

He looks around the tent even though he knows exactly what’s in it. A small, dark wooden table containing medicines and herbs belonging to Óin, the two cots for Thorin and Fília, nd the stool between them. No one else has entered since Dwalin and Kíli earlier today. Bilbo has not miraculously appeared.

But Thorin would like to see him. It’s been days, and though Thorin knows he shouldn’t expect anything, he still finds that he’s disappointed every time he opens his eyes and Bilbo isn’t standing at his bedside. The others of the Company have all stopped by since he’s woken up, even if it was only for a few minutes. He’s asked Balin to ask Bilbo to visit but his friend evades the request every time.

Thorin has seen Dáin, who is acting alongside Balin to counsel Kíli in negotiations with the Men and Elves. He’s been updated on what he’ll be returning to once his body is healed enough for him to move.

Surprisingly Gandalf has stayed away, and Thorin can’t help but be nervous because of it. He finds it’s always best to know where the Wizard is and what he’s doing, though if Balin’s reports are to be trusted he isn’t doing much. Just helping keep the fragile peace everybody has agreed to.

Still Bilbo stays away.

Thorin hasn’t seen him since Ravenhill.

There’s a familiar ache in Thorin’s chest, and it’s not from being stabbed. Hearing about Kíli and his Elf is a painful reminder of the obstacles he faces in his own love life. The fact that Bilbo is only outside of his tent, but too far for Thorin to find him, is eating away at him. It’s most likely that Bilbo doesn’t want to see him and that he doesn’t care whether Thorin is alright, something the king can’t fault him for. If he were Bilbo he’d also want to be as far away from him as possible.

That doesn’t stop him hoping.

The brothers teasing breaks off abruptly when Thorin slowly moves his legs to hang over the side of his cot, grimacing at the sharp stab of pain in his chest as he turns around. He’s sure he’s able to walk, if he could just avoid twisting his torso. If he’s remembering right, his legs are perfectly fine, especially after nearly a week’s rest.

“Uncle?” Fíli asks and Kíli shoots to his feet, good arm reaching out as if to stop Thorin but hesitating before actually touching him.

“Yes?” The king asks them through gritted teeth while moving forward to place some weight on his feet. His legs will be weak, he knows, especially since he hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days.

“Are you hurt? Should I fetch Óin?” Kíli asks and Thorin waves his concern away.

“I will be fine.” He mutters, hand gripping the edge of the cot before pushing himself up. He shakes from the effort and his legs wobble. He almost falls to the ground but Kíli catches him.

“Uncle!” Fíli yelps and Dwalin bursts in quicker than any of them can blink.

“Thorin!” The Dwarf’s eyes scan the tent quickly, his axe held high in his grip ready to use. When he catches sight of the three Dwarves it lowers slowly. “What in Mahal’s name are you doing?”

“Dwalin.” Thorin breathes out heavily. “Come here. Help me walk.”

Dwalin moves forward to take Thorin’s weight from Kíli but he makes no attempt to help him walk out of the tent. “Are you sure you should be doing this? Óin -”

“I need to walk.” Thorin says stubbornly, frustration clear in his tone. “I am King Under the Mountain and there are things I need to see to.”

Bilbo, Thorin mentally adds. He wants to see Bilbo. If the Hobbit won’t come to him then he leaves Thorin no choice but to seek him out.

“Nobody’s expecting you to jump right back into it you blasted fool.” Dwalin says, hoisting him up further so he can stand straight. “Maybe a walk about the tent to get your blood flowing and we’ll see what Óin says about the rest.”

“I’m fine.” Thorin gripes.

Dwalin meets his eyes looking unimpressed, before suddenly loosening his grip, making Thorin stumble at the sudden absence of support.

His friend catches him immediately after, but his point has been made. As Kíli and Fíli both watch them worriedly Thorin grits his teeth through the pain.

“You can barely stand.” Dwalin accuses, talking over Thorin’s protests. “Come on, I’ll help you walk around a bit in here, but then it’s back to bed with you.” He looks over at Kíli. “Fetch Óin. Tell him this idiot’s trying to leave the tent.”

Kíli nods, ignoring his uncle’s betrayed look as he goes.

Thorin stares at Dwalin. “I’m perfectly fine, Dwalin.” He growls.

His friend should know better than anybody how much he hates being cooped up from injuries since they’ve been fighting together since they were children.

“I’m not letting you ten feet away from this cot until Óin says so.” Dwalin says, not seeming to be listening to a word Thorin is trying to say to him.

Thorin glowers. “How many times have you ignored doctor’s orders-”

“Thorin.” Dwalin’s voice loses any hint of annoyance to be replaced by seriousness, making Thorin fall quiet at once and stop hobbling to glance at his friend. “You almost died up there on that cursed hill. Do you have any idea what it was like finding you unconscious with Bilbo?” His friend’s voice isn’t accusing, but it makes Thorin feel chastised all the same. There’s a wavering note in the warrior’s normally gruff tone, and it makes Thorin pay attention more closely than he would have otherwise. “Everyone thought you were going to die. We had the Elf-lass of Kíli ’s come and help you we were so desperate. Do you know what that does to a Dwarf?”

He opens his mouth but Dwalin speaks before he can.

“No, because you were the one who was bloody unconscious and dying.” The tremor is still there but Dwalin’s eyes meet his steadily. “After everything we’ve been through to get back here, you nearly died, and the rest of us were helpless to do anything. So forgive me, Your Majesty, but I’m not about to risk you catching an infection or something else just as easily avoided, because you’re bored and want to go for a stroll.”

The silence between them is thick and Thorin nods, clearing his throat. “Alright.”

“Good.” Dwalin gently nudges him forward so they can continue taking small steps, helping Thorin regain balance and strength.

He catches sight of Fíli watching them and grits his teeth again. Part of him is ashamed, knowing that he keeps making rash decisions and hurting the people he loves. Another part is tired.

Mostly though, he’s frustrated at his own helplessness and inability to ever seem able to make the right choice.

Óin and Kíli appear again as Thorin is settling down to sit on the edge of the cot. The healer is tsking and fussing, harping on about the line of Durin, and how he’s busy enough without stubborn kings making his life harder. Thorin closes his eyes, breathing in deeply.

He could just ask for Bilbo, he knows. But it’s not only his pride stopping him. He needs Bilbo to know that he’s free of the gold sickness, and to do that he has to show he’s willing to go to him. He doesn’t expect the Hobbit to always be at his beck and call. He wants to make the effort and get there instead.

It seems that will have to wait.

Balin appears as Óin continues to check him over, and the tent is growing a bit crowded now. But his old friend brings news from negotiations, saying that everyone has finally proposed a set of terms. If Thorin accepts them then they can all begin an era of real peace between all of their people.

There’s a lot Thorin needs to be caught up on, even with the daily reports from Dáin, Balin and Kíli, but he finds himself paying more attention to Óin who finally straightens up and looks at him.

“You’ll be sore for a while yet.” The healer says. “But if you take things slow and have someone to help you, I think you’re fine to walk. Don’t push yourself, your body will tell you when it’s tired. Listen to it.”

Thorin nods. “I can join the peace talks? Resume my duties?”

“With help I don’t see why not.” Óin replies with a significant look when he says the word help. “If you start feeling the least bit poorly you send someone to come find me, understand?”

He’s looking more at the others now and Thorin would feel insulted if he wasn’t so happy at the news.

“Right.” He nods. He makes a list in his head of things he’ll have to do, the top of which is get some lunch and then a quick wash, even if it’s just with a damp cloth. Brushing out his hair and braiding it again seems like a good idea, along with finding some fresh clothes.

It's not much. But at least he’ll be doing something again.

* * *

When he finally leaves the tent that night he feels cleaner than he has since Rivendell. Balin is with him and leads him around the campsites.

The Dwarves are camped closest to Erebor’s gates and Thorin sees fires glowing from inside the mountain.

“Dáin tasked some of his Dwarves to gain the layout of the place to take stock of what needs reparations, among other things.”

Thorin tenses on instinct. “And the gold in the halls?”

He is past his gold sickness, it’s true, but he does not like the idea of anybody going in to loot Erebor’s halls while others lay dying and recovering from a battle fought to keep their home safe. Everything in the mountain belongs to those who reclaimed it, not an army who only appeared once Smaug had been killed.

Even if is an army of Dwarves.

“Glóin’s in there.” Balin says and Thorin relaxes immediately. “He’s begun tallying everything up so we can split the shares of the treasure.”

“Does he know of our agreement with the Elves and Men?” Thorin asks.

Balin nods in reply.

Good. That’s one less thing Thorin needs to worry about then. The Men would get their promised share of the gold and whatever Thorin and Bard deemed necessary for them to rebuild Dale and Esgaroth.

And Thranduil would get his thrice-cursed gems. Thorin had agreed to that with the most aplomb he could muster, tired of fighting over the damn things.

They have helped to defend Erebor and Dale and suffered heavy losses, Thorin has been told. If the starlight gems are what Thranduil wants to allow for open trade between their two kingdoms in the future then Thorin deems them a worthy price.

“The Arkenstone?” He asks Balin quietly as they walk amongst the tents. Dwarves stop to look and bow and Thorin nods his head to them all as they pass.

“Bard will return it once the agreements have been signed.” Balin murmured, watching Thorin closely.

The king nods and says nothing more, willing to trust Balin’s judgement. If he believes the Man’s word- and truly Bard has given them no reason not to- then that is good enough for Thorin.

They come to the edge of the Dwarven tents, but Thorin does not stop. Slowly, cautiously, he enters the campsite of the Men and Elves.

Nobody is staying in Dale because it is largely ruins. Whatever spaces had been habitable after Smaug woke are now ruined from the battle.

He has asked Balin to take him to see Thranduil and Bard. Their tents have been erected side by side and before signing the agreement between their people Thorin needs to talk to them both.

Thranduil’s tent comes into view, large and suitably ostentatious when you take into account its occupant. Braziers burn at the door flaps and two guards are posted at the entry, both in armour and standing alert.

“-I just don’t understand how he can rationalize their actions at the gate.” Bard’s low tones reach Thorin and Balin’s ears from inside the tent just as the guards outside catch sight of them.

“You heard his impassioned plea when he handed over the Arkenstone to us.” Thranduil’s voice is its usual drawl and he sounds uninterested in the conversation, though Thorin knows better. The Elf King often assumed an uncaring air to better catch others off guard later. “He made it quite clear he cares for them all despite their… shortcomings.”

Thorin’s breath catches because it’s obvious that they’re speaking about Bilbo. He wonders, in a moment of sudden and blind panic, whether the Hobbit is there. Perhaps he’s been staying with Bard this entire time? He had seemed to get along with the Man better than the rest of them, even Balin.

One of the guards slip into the tent and speaks quietly just before Balin and Thorin reach the entrance. The remaining guard lets his sword fall to block their path, not saying a word.

“They may enter.”

Thranduil’s command makes the sword disappear as quickly as it had been drawn and Thorin has enough time to shoot Balin an eye roll at the drama of it all before they make their way into the tent.

He tenses automatically as he immediately spots Thranduil. The king is sitting on his throne, one leg draped over the other and inspecting the nails of one hand as if he could care less that Thorin has just come to see him. His robes are a pale silver overlaid with a black pattern made up with small and intricate curving lines. No armour and no sword, not even a crown is to be seen on the Elf’s brow.

Bard is sitting on a stool at the table in the center of the tent. Wearing a well-worn white shirt and a dark jerkin that fades into dark brown trousers tucked into his boots. His appearance hasn’t changed much from the day the Company first saw him. Thorin spots the sword strapped to his waist and sees the Man’s hand clench where it’s resting on his hip beside the pommel, obviously resisting the urge to grab it.

The surprise occupant is Gandalf, who is also sitting at the table with Bard, and looks the same as ever. His robe is a bit torn at the hem in a couple of places, but Gandalf is still Gandalf. It’s a rather comforting thought to Thorin at the moment, when so much is unsure and teetering on the brink of falling one way or another.

In all, the three of them seem to have come out of the battle relatively unscathed. Bard winces as he rolls a shoulder, making Thorin think he may have bruised ribs or something of the sort, but the others could have only just arrived at Dale a day ago.

He’s suddenly very glad he had the foresight to wash and change his clothing before coming.

“So, it’s true. The King Under the Mountain survived.” Thranduil’s grating tone makes Thorin look to him once more. The Elf takes in his appearance quickly before meeting his gaze. “I was beginning to think the Hobbit was right to worry and you’d died up on that hill.”

Thorin doesn’t react to the words, though he desperately wants to. He glances at Balin, who nods encouragingly and to Gandalf who’s watching him curiously, before again meeting Thranduil’s eyes.

And then he bows his head, ever so slightly, showing respect from one king to another.

It’s for as little time as Thorin can bear, and when he looks up he catches the brief widening of Thranduil’s eyes in surprise before the elf hides his emotions quickly.

Smug satisfaction almost makes the gesture worth it.

Thorin turns to Bard and repeats the action, bowing his head a little lower and for a little longer.

“I have come to ask for your forgiveness for my people, though I do not deserve it, and also to thank you both for your part in the battle.” He swallows bitterly. “It is thanks to you and your people both that Erebor is still standing unclaimed by the Orc hordes, and that any Dwarves on the battlefield survived. You have-” he takes a deep breath to fortify his resolve, “-my sincerest gratitude and deepest apologies for my actions preceding the attack.”

Bard sits back, assessing, and Thranduil’s eyes are sharp as he takes in Thorin.

It is Gandalf who breaks the tense silence.

“Well said.” He nods as if to himself. “After recent events I think we could all do with some reconciliation.”

“Forgive me, King Thorin, if I do not entirely trust your sentiment.” Bard says, sounding apologetic but determined. “You have given your word to my people before and turned your back on us as soon as we needed your aid. Your representatives have been courteous and kind in your absence, but you…”

Thorin takes a deep breath. The fact that he turned Bard away when his people were desperate, much like Thranduil had to Thorin’s people after Smaug, does not escape him. It is a blow his pride will likely never recover from, to realize he had stooped to the Elf’s level while in his madness.

“I understand your hesitation. All I can offer in my defense is that I was not myself when you came to treat with me in Erebor. I had fallen prey to the ailment known as gold sickness to my people, one that affects my line more strongly than most. I was not in my right mind.”

“And you are cured of this now, are you?” Bard asks with a raised eyebrow.

Balin nods beside him. “Aye, he is. I am a witness of it myself. The gold sickness never would have allowed Thorin to charge from Erebor and leave the wealth within its walls, sitting and open for the taking, during the battle. If that cannot prove he has overcome it than I do not know what will.”

“Perhaps this?” Bard pulls out the Arkenstone from his shirt breast, holding it up for them all to see. Every set of eyes shot to it immediately except for the Bowman’s, who watches Thorin closely. “Will you agree to our terms now, King Under the Mountain, in return for your stone?”

Thorin swallows, pulling his eyes away from the gem to meet the Human’s. “I will. They are more than fair.”

Bard cocks his head, letting his hand fall to the table and letting the Arkenstone sit there tantalizingly, in full view of everybody.

Thranduil stands up fluidly, moving to stop opposite of Thorin and Balin across the table. “The gems will be returned to my people? Along with monetary compensation for our trouble here?”

Thorin grits his teeth. “As I said, your terms are more than fair.”

Their eyes meet and Thranduil nods shortly. “Very well, King Thorin.”

It is as close to forgiveness as Thorin would get and he knows it. Taking advantage of the ceasefire between them he continues. “I was also informed that you are interested in reopening trade routes between Erebor, Dale and Mirkwood.”

Thranduil’s lips curl in distaste at the slur of his forest’s name but he does not interrupt. Thorin counts that as a victory, no matter how minor.

“My kingdom always benefits from new trade.” The Elf replies without looking at him. “There are Elves in Greenwood who would welcome the new alliance.”

Bard hums to himself. “If we are to get Dale thriving again before winter truly comes then all trade partners are welcome. We would not refuse the opportunity to be allies with Erebor over wounded pride.”

Thorin ignores the barb. He wonders at what point Bard will deem it long enough for his actions to be forgotten. Probably never.

He resists the urge to sigh. Dealing with these two was going to be insufferable over the coming years.

“Wonderful.” Gandalf says and gets up from his seat, giving Thorin a subtle glance as he does.

Balin also shoots Thorin a look and the king moves over to take the offered stool gratefully, hiding his weariness from the wounds still plaguing him. Still, after a few moments of sitting his colour returns to his face incrementally.

He nods his head at the Wizard in silent thanks and looks across at Bard. “Is there anything else for us to discuss before the contracts are drawn up and signed tomorrow?”

There isn’t really, but Thranduil loves to draw out conversations to make them as painfully prolonged as possible. Since Bard and the others don’t seem inclined to stop him, Thorin suffers through it. He nods at proposals for trade and plans to rebuild both Erebor and Dale. In truth, most of the conversation concern Dale and Erebor, but that doesn’t stop Thranduil from nitpicking every fine detail.

One topic that does concern both Thorin and the Elf King is brought up; and funnily enough it seems to be the topic they are most in agreement with one another.

“Now you’ve undoubtedly heard that my nephew intends to court your former Captain of the Guard.” Thorin says and he looks at Thranduil only to be met with a cold and calculating gaze. “He has told me she’s been banished.”

“She has.”

Thorin bites back his curiosity, only nodding calmly. “Then I suppose you will have nothing to say on the matter?”

Thranduil’s lips thin but Thorin can’t tell whether it’s from anger, insult or something else. Whatever it is, the Elf seems eager to put the subject behind them. “I do not.”

Thorin fills with relief. “Very well.”

“Though I would ask, if you would be so kind as to permit it.” Thranduil’s words are underlaid with mocking. “Whether you will allow them to marry and live within Erebor?”

Thorin hesitates only for a moment, but when he remembers Kíli’s impassioned pleas earlier he can’t help but reaffirm his resolve. “I will have to take it under advisement. But if the choice is left to me than yes, I will.”

There’s no outward change in Thranduil’s appearance but Thorin still feels like he’s shocked the other being. He turns back to the others when it appears there will be no answer to his statement.

“Now that is something,” Gandalf says quietly. “I had not heard about this. Perhaps I’ll seek out young Kíli tomorrow to hear the full story.”

Thorin sighs, rubbing his temples at a dull headache he’s developed. “He will be more than happy to share, I promise you.”

Bard shoots him an amused look and Thorin finds himself almost smiling in return.

The talks continue, and just as Thorin thinks they’re finally finished Thranduil speaks up.

“And the Hobbit?”

He tenses immediately, eyes cutting to the Elfking. “What about him?”

“Last time you saw him you nearly killed him,” Bard says, watching carefully. “If he remains with the Dwarves will he be safe? I’m more than happy to have somebody gather his things from Erebor if not. I would do it myself.”

Thorin flexes his hands and speaks with forced calm through clenched teeth. “Master Baggins is more than safe with us. He did travel in our Company for over a year if you recall.”

Thranduil raises an eyebrow. “So why then has he been denied entry to your tent since the battle?”

Distantly Thorin hears Balin make a pained noise, but it’s lost amidst his confusion. “Excuse me?”

Thranduil is looking between Thorin and his advisor, and whatever he sees makes the corners of his mouth tick up in smug realization. “Ah. I can see I’ve wandered into something that is none of my business.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Thorin mutters darkly, irritated by the Elf’s false contriteness. He glances at Balin to see the older Dwarf looking extremely guilty and Thorin’s eyes narrow. “It seems I have more to catch up on than I thought.”

Gandalf is looking pleasantly surprised and Thorin doesn’t even try to understand why. There are too many things for him to figure out tonight and he’s beginning to feel tired.

Bard helps solve his internal dilemma. “Well I believe we’ve discussed everything we need to, at least for now. Tomorrow our people can write up the contracts and we can put this all to rest. As for now,” the bowman stands up. “I need to bid my children goodnight.”

“And I need to give instructions for our departure.” Thranduil says, shooting Thorin a meaningful look that makes the Dwarf sigh and use the table to push himself upright to stand.

“Tomorrow then,” he says to them both and they nod in return.

Balin comes over to help him and Thorin shoots him a glare. “You have some explaining to do.”

“Do it outside, I beg of you.” Thranduil drawls before turning and murmuring something to Bard.

Balin ducks his head. “Aye, I suppose so.”

“I think I’ll come with you two if you don’t mind.” Gandalf appears behind them and Thorin stifles a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that even injured and on the first day back at his duties, he won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

They step outside and the air seems to be cooler than it had been when they’d entered the tent. Thorin takes a deep breath, feeling the brisk air hit the back of his throat and shivering slightly, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. The distant sound of Ravenhill’s waterfall permeates the air, along with bawdy singing of Dwarves and Men.

Gandalf walks by their sides, shortening his stride so as not to outpace them. Thorin eyes him closely, growing exasperated the longer they walk with nobody saying anything until finally, he can hold his question in no longer.

“What did he mean when he said Bilbo has been denied entrance to my tent?”

Gandalf doesn’t look at them but Thorin feels his attention shift all the same, and Balin sighs, grip tightening around Thorin’s waist as he helps him walk.

“It was thought, since you did banish the lad and the whole business with the Arkenstone, that seeing him would disrupt your recovery.”

“Thought by who?”

Balin glanced to the side to meet his eyes briefly before looking forward purposely. “By all of us.”

Thorin looks over at Gandalf. “And you agreed?”

“I confess it was more for Bilbo’s safety than your own,” the Wizard replied. “Though I did not know you were not part of the decision.”

He tries not to let the hurt he felt at the words show and instead does his best to gaze stonily back at Gandalf. “I see.”

He worries his cheek, watching the ground as they walk before halting suddenly. “I would like to see him.”

Balin sighs in resignation. “Thorin, it’s nearing midnight-”

Thorin looks at Gandalf. “Would he-” He falters and clears his throat to try and cover his misstep. “Do you think he would allow it?”

Whatever Gandalf sees in Thorin’s face makes his eyes soften and the Wizard nods. “Yes, I think so.” Then he hesitates. “You must know, Thorin, that he spoke most highly of you to Thranduil and Bard when giving up the Arkenstone. I do not think he meant for it to be a betrayal. Instead he did the only thing he could think of to help you. He’s been very worried about you and your recovery.”

Thorin swallows. “I know that now.”

Gandalf watches him so closely Thorin suddenly gets the feeling they’re talking about something else. “Do you?”

The king remembers Bilbo bringing him blankets in the treasure hall of Erebor when he wouldn’t go to bed to sleep, and bringing plates of food, and pleading with him to stop for just an hour and spend time with the others.

He remembers the look in Bilbo’s eyes every time Thorin refused.

“Yes,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, making him clear his throat again. “I do.”

Gandalf nods. “Very well. Then I will leave you until tomorrow.” He glances down at Balin. “You know the way to Bilbo’s tent?”

Balin nods and Gandalf smiles briefly.

“Then I bid you both goodnight.”

The Wizard walks off and Thorin feels Balin’s grip tighten around him.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“I have to see him, Balin.”

“But tonight?” Balin presses. “You’re exhausted, anybody can see it. You need rest-”

“I need to see Bilbo.” Thorin interrupts. He meets his old friend’s eyes. “You know I do.”

Understanding is all over Balin’s face, but it doesn’t make him look any happier. “Aye, I do. Neither of you have been subtle.”

He starts them walking back in the direction of the Dwarf camp and Thorin ignores the warm feeling that fills him.

“You’ve seen him since the battle.” Thorin asks. “How is he?”

“Tired. Relieved it’s over.” Balin looks at him. “Worried about you.”

“Not too much I hope.” Thorin murmurs.

“He was beside himself, the poor lad.” The old Dwarf shakes his head. “If I hadn’t suggested he help mediate the meetings between Bard, Thranduil, Dáin and Kíli he would have been out of his mind with it, not knowing what to do.”

“Yet he did not come to see me.” Thorin says quietly.

“He tried.” Balin bit his lower lip quickly before continuing. “I stopped him more than once, if I’m being honest. You did banish him, Thorin. Or has that been revoked without my knowing?”

Thorin blinks at the reminder. “It had not but is now. Let everyone know as quickly as possible.”

“In truth it was many things that made us keep him away.” Balin confesses, nodding to a passing Dwarf who bowed his head to Thorin. The king nodded as well. “Not the least being that nobody was sure how you would react if you woke up and he was there.”

Thorin looks sideways at his friend, eyebrow raised skeptically. “Did you not?”

Balin’s look is measured. “We couldn’t presume anything just because he shared your bed. It’s not as if any of us were informed of the development, and you weren’t exactly keen to share the particulars at the time.”

Another sigh works its way past Thorin’s lips. “No, I suppose not.”

Balin hesitates. “The mithril shirt,” he begins warily.

Thorin looks over at him so he would continue.

“That was a courting gift if I’m not mistaken?”

Thorin glances away. “It was, though Bilbo has no knowledge of that.”

“So you have decided then.”

“In truth I did not have much of a choice in the matter.”

His friend’s intake of breath is audible. “Then he is your One?”

“He is.”

Thorin silently dares him to say anything against the fact, but Balin surprises him by breaking out in a pleased grin.

“Aye, good thing too.” He says. “You need someone who can talk back to you when you’re being ridiculous.”

Thorin growls and Balin laughs.

“Ach, well.” He’s silent for a while. “Everyone knows I have no experience or personal interest in this area, but for what it’s worth I believe you’re well suited for one another. And I don’t see it being a problem.” His smile fades a bit. “Though added to Kíli’s union…” He trails off before shaking his head. “Ah, we Dwarves will understand, won’t we? None of us would deny another their One.”

Thorin searches the tents they pass for any sign that they’re getting close to Bilbo’s. “I hope not. I can only wish he’s been well treated in my absence.”

“Don’t think he’s been left all alone.” Balin remarks. “He’s had all of us visiting at one point or another. And he saw to Fíli before he was moved into your tent. Not to mention he’s been keeping busy.”

They slow to a stop outside of a tent. It’s small and similar to those around it, a dirty bleached colour. There’s also a light shining inside.

Panic comes to Thorin so swiftly it nearly leaves him breathless. He’d wanted to see Bilbo so badly he’s forgotten everything he planned on saying to him. Every carefully thought out apology flees his mind like water from a sponge.

“Perhaps you were right and this should wait until tomorrow.”

“Ah, you’re here now laddie. Best get it over with.”

Thorin shakes his head and opens his mouth with a retort but a voice from inside of the tent stops him cold.

“Balin? Is that you out there? What are you doing here so late?”

“Aye, Bilbo, it’s me!” Balin replies loudly and Thorin sees a shadow moving within the tent. “I brought somebody else along as well. Someone who’s been wanting to see you.”

“Oh, now who could that-” Bilbo steps out of the tent and his eyes meet Thorin’s immediately. The Dwarf watches as the Hobbit’s eyes widen and his movements stop. “-be.”

Thorin unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and closes it quickly, swallowing loudly and bowing as deep as his injury will allow. “Bilbo.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice is curiously flat, but his eyes take in every movement. “I- wasn’t expecting you.”

Balin makes a sound close to a muffled laugh and Thorin elbows him quickly.

“I wished to see you.” He replies, eyes taking in Bilbo greedily. Apart from a scratch and bruise on his head the Hobbit seems mostly fine and Thorin sighs in relief, meeting his eyes once more. “If it’s a bad time-”

“No!” Bilbo says quickly, and Thorin elbows Balin again; just in case.

The older Dwarf makes a grunt of displeasure but is silent otherwise.

“I mean,” Bilbo’s face darkens slightly in the moonlight and Thorin suspects he’s blushing. “It’s fine. Of course.” He shakes his head quickly and fondness crashes through Thorin so strongly it makes his throat tighten. “Come in, come in, where are my manners? Must have left them at Bag-End.”

Thorin smiles and moves to follow Bilbo inside the tent but Balin stops him briefly.

“Our tent is right over there.” He nods to one several tents away, and Thorin would laugh at how close Bilbo was all this time if he wasn’t so annoyed that everybody had been conspiring to keep them away from one another. “I think it will be best if I leave you two alone.”

Thorin pauses only a second before he nods. “Very well.”

“Bilbo will help you if you need it.” Balin pats his shoulder comfortingly. “Good luck.”

Thorin shoots him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

And then he takes a fortifying breath and steps inside of the tent.

* * *

If Bilbo notices Balin’s sudden absence he didn’t show it. When Thorin enters the tent the Hobbit is pacing about with his hands wringing in front of his stomach nervously.

He looks up and their eyes meet, making Thorin stop just inside the entrance and swallow nervously.

Bilbo’s eyes are hungry, taking in every inch of Thorin’s appearance, but the Dwarf hardly notices because he’s doing the same. The candlelight from around the room casts shadows over Bilbo’s face, making him seem more tired than he really is. But his hair seems newly washed and his cheeks are definitely rosier than usual. The Hobbit is wearing his traveling clothes from the first leg of their journey, though Thorin notes that they’re dirtier now than when they’d started out. The white shirt is smudged, the green vest is torn in a spot below Bilbo’s left arm, likely from the goblin tunnels. His brown trousers seem... actually they seem to have made it through fairly well, all things considered.

Thorin wonders what Bilbo thinks of his own clothing. The dark blue cloak that’s edged in silver used to belong to his grandfather. His black vest overlaying the crisp and freshly washed white shirt melt seamlessly into the black trousers he’s wearing.

His boots are dark and tightly buckled. Thorin notes Bilbo’s bare feet- hair nicely combed, of course- and his own toes wriggle, suddenly acutely aware of their confinement.

He looks around the tent when it becomes clear Bilbo won’t be saying anything anytime soon. The tent doesn’t hold much. Just two cots really. Bilbo’s pack seems to be serving as a makeshift pillow, as does the bag belonging to whoever he’s staying with.

Thorin inspects the other pack closely, and it’s not jealousy that he feels when he realizes who it belongs to.

He gestures towards it and the unslept bed.

“Will I be disturbing Bofur by being here?” He asks, what what he really means is, would you like me to leave so that when Bofur comes back you two can be alone?

Bilbo’s eyes follow his hand to the pack and he’s shaking his head before Thorin even finishes speaking.

“Ah, no.” He gives a short laugh. “Bofur spends the night drinking with some of Dáin’s Dwarves more often than not. He won’t be back for a while, if at all.” The Hobbit’s smile is small but fond and the jealousy Thorin does not feel grows. “He usually ends up spending the night with Bombur and Bifur in their tent. Too tired to make his way to this one alone.”

The hypothetical jealousy disappears and Thorin chuckles while Bilbo’s smile grows wider, his eyes lighting up happily.

“I suppose he’s earned it.” Thorin says quietly. “After everything.”

The reminder makes them both sober immediately and Thorin curses. Part of him can’t wait to get back and yell at the members of the Company. This conversation would probably go much easier if he was half-delirious from his wounds and drifting in and out of consciousness as an excuse to avoid the harder topics.

“Oh!” Bilbo says suddenly and Thorin’s eyes shoot to his. “One moment, how rude of me.”

Thorin frowns in confusion as Bilbo looks around. “What is it?”

The Hobbit looks back at him helplessly.

“You should sit.” He says, avoiding looking at Thorin’s chest where his stab wound is. “But we don’t have any chairs.” He laughs helplessly before gesturing to his own bed. “This will have to do.”

Thorin blinks. In truth he’ll probably be able to stand a bit longer, but now that Bilbo mentions it, a seat would be wonderful.

Still he hesitates, looking at the single bed. “I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Just sit down, Thorin.” Bilbo says not unkindly, and Thorin smiles to himself but obeys.

“Thank you.”

Steadying himself with one arm on the mattress he carefully bends to sit down near the edge of the cot. He sees Bilbo’s eyes looking between him and the bed before the Hobbit sighs and seems to come to a decision, moving to sit beside him.

The Dwarf tries not to read too much into how close they’re sitting but- it’s quite close. Closer than he’d expected or hoped for.

The thought bolsters his courage and he looks up from the minimal space between them to meet Bilbo’s eyes instead.

He steels himself and tries to begin. “Bilbo-”

“Thorin-”

They both snap their mouths shut and wait, but neither breaks the silence.

Thorin bites his cheek, suddenly glad beyond measure that Dís isn’t here, or she would never let him live it down. He can already hear her voice in his head now.

 _You survive a Dragon and a battle with Azog but you can’t even face your One_? She would ask while looking unimpressed, before tutting and shaking her head. Dwarrows _, I swear to Mahal, Vili was just as bad.._.

Thorin attempts to speak again, shoving all thoughts of Dís firmly away for now. “You first, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo shifts anxiously on the bed. “Oh no.”

“Please, Bilbo.” Thorin allows his expression to become more open. “I insist.”

Bilbo nods but continues to worry his lower lip before finally beginning in earnest. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

And Thorin can’t think to say anything in reply because he’s so surprised. He’s come here knowing it is him who has to apologize for everything. What Bilbo could be sorry for he has no idea.

Bilbo misreads his expression and hurries on quickly before Thorin can give his confusion a voice. “I’m so very, very sorry, Thorin. You have to know I thought giving the Arkenstone to them was the only way I could help you. I never dreamed that you would- but I suppose I should have.” He sighs. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he continues miserably. “I hoped you would give the Men their gold and we could figure things out from there.”

Bilbo looks up at him as if expecting Thorin to yell and scream and that observation makes the king feel worse than ever.

“Then you got stabbed and you were dying,” Bilbo’s eyes fall again to where Thorin’s wound is. “And I never got the chance to tell you… everything.” Their gazes meet and Thorin feels his breath catch at the vulnerability in Bilbo’s face. “I thought you’d died. Nobody would let me in, and I was sure they were all trying to spare my feelings. The only time I saw you, you were asleep, and it felt like you’d be gone at any moment.” He laughs a small laugh at himself. “I was acting quite desperately.”

Thorin reaches out to touch Bilbo’s hand before he can help himself, both of them freezing at the contact until Bilbo turns his hand palm up to link their fingers.

“I am sorry they did not let you in.” Thorin begins, wondering how Bilbo got in to see him sleeping without the others seeing, but needing to get other words out first. “They thought they were doing me a service when in truth what I wanted most was to see you and know that you were okay.”

Bilbo sucks in a sharp breath of air.

“I accept your apology, Bilbo Baggins, though it was never necessary.” Thorin pauses. “I am the one who should be apologizing to you. For so many things, but the most important being that I ever, for one second, valued the Arkenstone over your own life.”

Bilbo’s hand tightens at the words but Thorin continues steadily.

“My actions on the rampart of the gate were unforgivable.” He says, his eyes searching Bilbo’s for any hint of his reaction to the words. “I will carry the guilt and shame from them until my last breath and most likely beyond that to Mahal’s Hall. The thought that I did such a thing, not only to a trusted and proven companion but to the one who I…”

Bilbo’s eyes widen at the words and Thorin’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. He lets the sentence trail off, its implication clear.

“I will never forgive myself for it.” He says softly, thumb tracing Bilbo’s own lightly. “I meant my words on Ravenhill, you did what only a true friend would. I know that now, and I appreciate you having the strength to stand up to me, even in my darkest time. Especially then. It is something every king needs.”

“What’s that?” Bilbo asks.

“Somebody to tell them when they’re being a fool.” Thorin watches Bilbo closely and grins at the small smile his words elicit, hoping his next words won’t make it disappear. “Usually that person is their consort.”

Bilbo freezes.

“I understand if you never wish to see me again.” Thorin says quickly, grasping Bilbo’s hand a bit tighter, not that the Hobbit tries to move it away. “Not only for what I did at the gates, but for how I treated you in the beginning of the journey, my weakness for the gold sickness, letting you go in and face Smaug alone and having the nerve to nearly die in your arms on Ravenhill.”

The words are spoken quickly, but Thorin knows if he doesn’t hurry his nerve will fail.

“You can leave anytime you wish it,” Thorin says, surprised at how much pain the words instill in him. “You will receive your fourteenth share of the treasure and my goodwill to take with you.” He takes a deep breath. “But I would not have you leave without you knowing how I feel.”

Bilbo’s words are barely a whisper. “How do you feel?”

He takes a deep breath.

“I want you by my side, always. I don’t want you to go back to the Shire. I would like you to stay here in Erebor with all of us. With me.”

He seems to be holding his breath. Thorin feels much the same way.

“In all my years I have never known anyone like you.” Thorin confesses. “In my gold sickness I wanted to keep you as close to me as any of the gems in Erebor’s halls. The mithril was a courting gift, one improperly given since you did not know its significance, but given nonetheless. If you choose to reject my offer then I would have you keep the mithril regardless.”

“You want to court me?” Bilbo asks with wide eyes and what looks like the beginning of a slow grin.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin cups his face hesitantly, but when the Hobbit doesn’t pull away he keeps his hands there, the thumbs gently brushing his cheekbones. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Bilbo’s smile in that moment is more precious to Thorin than any Arkenstone or jewel could hope to be. The Hobbit is staring at him, a range of emotions playing over his face before slowly he lifts his hands to pull Thorin closer.

“I want that too.”

The words are a whisper that Thorin feels as Bilbo’s lips move against his, but he doesn’t have time to reply before Bilbo kisses him gently, forgiving him with the mere touch of his lips to Thorin’s.

They still have a lot to figure out, and Thorin is dreading the hardships that are bound to come, but a part of him is looking forward to it too.

He’d never thought he would have something like this. Even before Smaug had come to Erebor he’d been lonely in the unique way royals always are. With half of his family falling prey to gold sickness and the other half in Mahal’s Halls, he hasn’t had many people he is close to.

And after Smaug had come he had more pressing things to think of than his love life.

But now Bilbo is here in his arms, lips moving softly against Thorin’s, and all the worries disappear. It might take days, weeks or months for them to grow truly comfortable with one another again but Thorin knows that it can be done. He has faith in Bilbo like he’s never had faith in anybody before.

On that night, in one tent amidst hundreds on a fresh battlefield, Thorin feels his worries go away like smoke in the wind, powerless against the reassurance that is Bilbo Baggins.


	3. Chapter 3

Things actually go well in the month after the battle, which should have been Thorin’s first hint that something horrible was coming. He has learned to prepare for attacks from all sides, but after their victory and the ease and fresh joy in their lives, he has grown complacent.

Yes, there is the skeptical criticism of his every move, but that comes with being a monarch and is something his grandfather and father had warned him of. People’s suspicions of him as king and rumours of his relationship with Bilbo seem to fade in the wake of more pressing concerns, like rebuilding Erebor and Dale. Treaties with the Men and mourning the deaths of the battle are the main priority. Even Kíli and Tauriel’s relationship, though talked about everywhere, is passed over more easily than it would have been at any other time.

The thing is, Thorin realizes later, that he can’t remember ever being so happy. A piece of him has settled, one that he hadn’t even known was untethered. He feels safe and secure in his relationship with Bilbo, his nephews are happy, his sister is gathering their people to bring them to Erebor in the coming months, and he is home again. Erebor is still just as wealthy, since Smaug had no reason to part with even a coin of gold, and trade and relations have sprung up between the Dwarves and Men of Dale easier than Thorin had thought possible. Thranduil has left a few Elves to aid with healing and to be his representatives after he left for Mirkwood again, and Thorin is finding them easier to treat with than their king, thank Mahal.

So much of him has been given to Erebor and his plans to reclaim it for him and his people. Now that it is done it feels like all he’s given is being returned, filling in every little part he’s traded away over the years piece by piece.

Thorin is happy. More than that he’s content. In his own home and in his own skin.

He has been sworn in as King Under the Mountain- a quick vow to put Erebor before all, even his personal wants and wishes- and Balin had crowned him. Later there will be an official coronation but for now quick oaths sworn in the presence of Gandalf, Dáin and the Company will have to do.

Despite the boring council meetings, despite the deaths and tentative peace treaties, despite the Dwarves’ reluctance to socialize with other races, things are good. Everything is perfect in its imperfection.

He looks around himself and sees Erebor being repaired and filling with Dwarves again. His people look to him for guidance and he does his best to meet their expectations. They rely on him and Thorin feels the weight of that more heavily than ever.

Just because he has broken free of the gold sickness does not mean he will not succumb to it again. It is a fear always at the back of his mind and he puts orders in place to stop himself from ruining Erebor just as it is recovering.

He had Balin draw up the contract stating that if at any time Fíli, Kíli, Balin or Bilbo think Thorin is afflicted with the Dragon sickness once more Fíli will assume the duties of King Under the Mountain.

Fíli and Kíli had shaken their heads, saying it was unnecessary, but Thorin, after meeting Bilbo’s eyes and seeing the relief in them at hearing the idea, had known it wasn’t. Before his authority as king had made the others powerless to stop him from bringing Erebor to war and driven Bilbo to give away their prize jewel. Now they all know better.

Dáin and his army plan to remain at Erebor until after Thorin’s official coronation, which won’t take place until Dís and the caravan of other Dwarves arrive. Thorin needs workers for the reparations to Smaug’s damage, and a part of him is glad those workers will be Dwarrow soldiers.

They need fortifications, and he trusts Dwarven work above all others. Not that he is expecting any attacks or needs for defenses soon, but just in case. He knows you can never be too careful.

So Thorin spends most of his days amongst the workers. He is either talking with Bard or writing replies to letters from Thranduil or Dís, all while having Fíli by his side for him to gain experience.

And during it all he has Bilbo. The Hobbit, Thorin quickly realizes, has more than just raw natural talent at negotiations; he is very good at being a diplomat. Which is perfect, because Thorin, as everyone well knows, is not.

Bilbo says it comes from dealing with his relatives, something to which Thorin has no reply. He wonders if he shouldn’t have spent more time at the Shire; perhaps it is more like the Dwarf kingdoms than he’d thought.

When it comes to the Council of Erebor Bilbo has a seat at Thorin’s left hand in the meetings, with Fíli being on Thorin’s right. All of the necessary seats are filled. A small group of nobles from their people in the Blue Mountains had arrived only weeks ago. The quick travellers had started out once it became clear Erebor had been retaken from Smaug.

Bilbo spends most of his time wandering Erebor making a list of what rooms need clearing out first. He helps figure out plans for future crops and the materials they will need from surrounding kingdoms to survive while Erebor is at less than full efficiency this winter.

He is a godsend and Thorin knows he would not be handling everything half so well if Bilbo hadn’t been there.

Everyone is busy with work and time goes on. Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship is known by some, but there was no further mention of courting or marriage, and until things settle Thorin prefers it that way. He’s relieved when Bilbo doesn’t seem to mind at all either.

Too busy dealing with everyone else’s relationships to worry about his own, he says.

But as one month passes, and then two, things begin to fall into place, and Thorin knows he needs to do something. Something for Bilbo to thank him for everything, even if the Hobbit has never given any sign of wanting such a gesture.

It is in bed one morning that Thorin first broaches the subject. “Since we’re rebuilding much of Erebor I was wondering whether you might like something here.”

Bilbo frowns slightly in confusion. It causes a line to appear between his eyebrows, something Thorin thinks is incredibly endearing. “Something?”

Thorin waves a hand lazily. “A room to enjoy to yourself. It could be made to resemble Bag-End or another Hobbit-hole of the Shire. We can have it filled with artwork, sculptures, paintings, books of your choosing… whatever you desire.”

The Hobbit’s lips twitch. “We already have the royal library,” he points out. “Which is more than good enough for me. As for sculptures and paintings, I’ve never really wanted a whole room dedicated to them.”

Thorin rolls his eyes at the Halfling playfully. “Something else then, as those were just suggestions.” He says pointedly. “Is there anything you would like? To make you feel more at home here?”

“I already feel comfortable here, you know that.”

Thorin runs a hand down Bilbo’s arm in chastisement. “You know what I mean.” He searches the Hobbit’s eyes. “I have my duties that take me from you. The others of the Company have families and jobs to keep them occupied. Gandalf does not stay anywhere long and will not linger once he returns from Mirkwood. I would not have you while away your days with nothing to do, and you do not wish for it either. Tell me, what would you like?”

“Hmm.” Bilbo hums happily, shifting beneath the covers. “A garden would be nice, but I highly doubt you could grow one outside here.”

“I’ve been told I’m very stubborn.” Thorin murmurs back, lifting a hand to run through Bilbo’s hair, scratching lightly at the Hobbit’s scalp before twirling the longest strands around his fingers. He has convinced him to try growing it out, and so far Thorin was more than pleased with the result.

“Even you can’t control the weather and it’s just too cold for vegetables up on this mountain. And the lack of soil.”

Thorin shifts and Bilbo moves with him, curling into his side. “That is easily solved. I’m sure importing soil will not bankrupt us.”

Bilbo scratches his nose by rubbing it against Thorin’s bare shoulder. “Maybe. But it would be much easier to grow an orchard.”

Thorin blinks in surprise. “An orchard?”

“Hmm.” Bilbo replies lazily, eyes still closed. His mouth was pursed in thought though, something that Thorin was finding extremely distracting. When Bilbo continues his tone is more musing than anything. “Trees can grow on a mountain up to a certain point. I’m sure planting an orchard somewhere just below the height of the secret door wouldn’t be too hard.”

“Is that what you want then?” Thorin moves to roll on top of Bilbo, leaving only the barest inch between their bodies as he lightly took hold of Bilbo’s wrists in his hands and stretches them out towards the headboard. “An orchard?”

Bilbo’s eyes flutter open and the pleased look on his face is entirely too tempting. Thorin leans down to kiss the sleepy smile away, making both of them grin when their eyes meet after.

“If it’s possible. I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble-”

Thorin growls playfully and kisses Bilbo again, this time moving his hips forward to brush against the Hobbit’s, making both of them breathe shakily. “So that’s a yes.”

“Yes.” Bilbo gasps as Thorin’s hips continue moving, making both of their cocks stir. “Oh, yes.”

The grin on Thorin’s face isn’t smug but it is at least triumphant. “And is that all?”

“Well while we’re at it let’s throw in a garden, I’m sure we can figure out how,” Bilbo says, sounding slightly dazed. “And a flowerbed too, you can never go wrong with- oh, Valar-”

Thorin smirks. “What was that?”

“F- flowers.” Bilbo breathes out. “And vegetables and-”

“Trees.” Thorin’s hardness brushes directly against Bilbo’s once more and this time they both groan. “An orchard. Shall this be my second gift to you?”

“Gift?” Bilbo asks in confusion. “Second- oh, Thorin, keep doing that-”

“I had no intention of stopping,” the Dwarf rasps out, bending his neck so that he can kiss Bilbo’s. The Hobbit turns his head away to allow better access. “Yes, my second gift,” he answers against Bilbo’s skin, making him shiver. “My second official courting gift. I plan to give you many more, if you’ll accept them.”

His tongue traces a path up to the shell of Bilbo’s ear. He breathes on it hotly and Bilbo’s entire body arches off the bed, only increasing the contact between them.

“I accept.” The Hobbit says hurriedly. “For my next gift I’d like us to stop talking and- _ah_ \- do something more productive with our mouths, please.”

Thorin shudders and quickly moves to bite lightly on the ear near his lips.

Bilbo positively _keens_.

“If it’s what you desire,” Thorin says and Bilbo nods, his hair growing tangled against the pillow which makes the Dwarf pull back and laugh. He thinks the love he feels for Bilbo is surely written plainly across his face and at the suddenly tender expression in the Hobbit’s expression it may very well be true. “Then who am I to deny such a request?”

He kisses Bilbo again deeply, wetly, and there is much less talking between them after that, at least for a while.

* * *

Thorin makes his requests to Balin the next day.

“Soil?” Balin raises an eyebrow. “Why on earth do we need soil? And that much?”

Thorin refuses to be cowed and answers steadily. He makes his tone blithe and unconcerned. “For an orchard of course.”

Balin only stares at him.

“I’m serious.”

“I know, which is almost worse. Thorin, we can’t grow anything this far up the mountain. If we could don’t you think our ancestors would have?”

“To be honest I don’t think they ever tried. I can find no record of any such undertaking here in Erebor. Besides, they did not have a Hobbit.”

Understanding wipes away the confusion on Balin’s face and a slightly disapproving look replaces it. “This is for Bilbo?”

“Hobbits need nature.” Thorin says ignoring the look. “If anybody can help us grow produce it will be Bilbo.”

“Thorin-”

“Balin.” His tone brooks no argument. “We will at least try. I have made a promise.”

Frustration leaks out into Balin’s voice. “I am sure he would understand.”

The promise Thorin made was not to Bilbo but to himself, but Balin does not need to know that. “I won’t be persuaded otherwise. Order the soil and the trees I requested. It can be done.”

Balin sighs and Thorin wonders, not for the first time, whether the older Dwarf will ever retire. If he did the royal House of Durin would be beside themselves. Without Balin Thorin is sure that the Mountain would crumble.

It might benefit his health though. The king suspects that if Balin was not employed by the royal family his hair would not have turned white quite so quickly.

“Very well.”

He places a hand on Balin’s shoulder. “Thank you, old friend.”

“I will get Ori to do some reading.” Balin begins to ponder to himself, growing interested in the challenge despite himself. “And talk to Bard and some of the Men. Perhaps an Elf or two as well. Tauriel may know something of worth. Bilbo’s knowledge will be invaluable as well.”

Thorin nods decisively, beginning to tune him out. He does not care so much about the technicalities, but he wants to ensure he will remain in charge of everything. “Good. I want to make any final decisions and to be kept updated as much as possible.”

Balin raises an eyebrow. “And this gift. Is it a courting gift?”

Thorin nods again.

Balin breathes out heavily, nodding at having his expectations confirmed. “Then I would advise you to inform the Council of your relationship with Bilbo. Officially.”

The king shifts uncomfortably. To be honest, he has been putting that conversation off. Word has spread throughout Erebor that Bilbo is a favourite of the Company’s, and that he and Thorin have grown particularly close, but it is not in a Dwarf’s nature to assume. It is very likely that Thorin’s true relationship with Bilbo is not as common knowledge as one might expect, unless the cleaning servants they’ve recently employed were prone to gossip.

Balin must have been able to read some of these thoughts from Thorin’s expression because he offers a small smile. “I can see no objections. You have two male heirs and Bilbo is highly regarded by everyone in Erebor.”

“Of course.”

Thorin doesn’t falter as they walk to the council meeting he had called earlier. His robe skims the ground behind him, and he wonders if he looks as ridiculous as he feels. After ornamenting himself so heavily during his Dragon sickness he has tried to keep the splendour to a minimum. The code of royal dress should not be ignored however, especially since he has an afternoon of petitioners to listen to after the meeting.

He and Balin arrive after the rest of the Dwarves and Thorin sweeps around the brightly lit stone room to sit at the head of the rectangular wooden table. It is dark, and long enough to fit the Dwarves present and takes up most of the room’s space.

Thorin sees that Fíli has been entertaining many of the others as they waited. He shoots his nephew a look of approval and watches as he practically preens, sitting up straighter and throwing his shoulders back in response.

He sits beside Fíli and waits for Balin to settle on the open chair on Thorin’s other side. With his fingers steepled together he surveys the Dwarves waiting and nods once he sees they’re all present.

There is Glóin, newly appointed Master of Erebor’s Treasury. Óin the new Master of Healers. Dwalin is there as Master of the Guard and sitting beside Balin. Nash, son of Kash is there as Master of the Mining Guild, and Darha daughter of Marha as the Master of the Smithies. Hugin, son of Fugin is there fulfilling his official responsibility of advisor for the monarchy regarding public relations. Bombur represents the kitchens, Narla, daughter of Karla is head of the Dwarrowdam Guild. There is Vari who oversees food supply, Sochy is head of the marketplace in Erebor and Londo who is heading the reparations of Erebor. Dunder son of Yunder is head of communications, particularly with the Blue Mountains, and has been in charge of sending ravens to Dís’ caravan and receiving her messages. Finally, Hyng son of Pyng is in charge of foreign relations. Kíli is sitting beside him, having been working with Hyng in communication with the Elves and Men, and Dáin is between Kíli and Fíli.

Every face turns to Thorin and immediately their conversations die off.

For a moment he wishes Bilbo was there, but his Hobbit has asked to be excused for today and Thorin had seen no reason to deny the request.

“Updates?” He asks the room at large and Balin immediately begins to rattle of the new developments since the last meeting a week ago. Once he is finished, the others take their turns, going in a circle while Thorin listens carefully to each and every one.

Dís and her caravan have finally left the Blue Mountains but apart from that things are much the same as they were last week. The treasure littering Erebor’s halls is still being counted, warriors are still being recruited, outfitted and trained while reparations are being made. Dwarves are working with the Men on rebuilding and crops are being grown before winter.

It’s a slow, monotonous meeting but they get through it without incident. Until the final few minutes before Thorin dismisses them all.

He stands. “As an endnote I would like to make an announcement.” He clears his throat, looking around the table and daring anybody to say anything. “I am announcing to you all my intention to formally court and marry the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.”

Silence falls. None of the Dwarves even shift in their seats.

Most of the faces look unsurprised but the ones who do worry Thorin a bit. Hugin’s face is completely blank, hard to read, and Dunder is frowning. Darha’s mouth has fallen open and Nash’s fists are clenched on the top of the table.

Others are smiling. Dwalin’s is almost hidden in his beard but Thorin sees it and bows his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Hyng is nodding along with Balin, Fíli’s expression hasn’t changed but he’s looking around at the others as if daring anybody to comment. Kíli’s eyes are wide and Thorin wonders if perhaps his nephew was so busy with his own love life he has remained oblivious to Thorin’s.

Or perhaps, Thorin thinks more realistically, some Dwarves of the Company might not have realized just how serious Thorin’s relationship is or how deep it runs.

“I will not change my mind on the matter,” Thorin says to break the silence, “I love him.”

There’s a small sound and he glances at Kíli quickly, hoping to quell his nephew’s surprise, before returning to meet the eyes of everyone there.

“However, I will hear your concerns on the subject.”

He’s still standing, leaning forward to rest his fingertips on the table and trying to appear imposing. It must work a bit because Darha’s mouth snaps shut and she blushes and Dunder looks around before his expression clears and he looks down at the papers before him.

But Nash meets Thorin’s eyes with incredulity in his own. “It’s impossible you to love one from another race,” he says. “They are not forged from Mahal’s fire as we are.”

Dwalin growls. “Remember to whom you speak.”

Nash glowers back at the warrior, unimpressed, but he does tack on a, “sire.”

“I do not fully understand it myself,” Thorin confesses, hoping that sincerity will help his case. “But he is who I have chosen. I know that I feel just as you did, Nash, when you first laid eyes on the Dwarrow of your heart.”

Nash still shakes his head. “How will this work? With the monarchy…?”

He trails off but the implication is clear and Thorin looks at Balin who nods and answers.

“There are two male heirs in line for the throne after Thorin. The line of Durin is secure.”

“Will the people trust a Hobbit as a consort?” Nash presses. Several glares are sent his way and he hurries to clarify. “I know what he has done, as do we all, no one is forgetting. But an inter-racial marriage in the monarchy… it is unprecedented.”

“Two,” Hugin murmurs but no one takes notice.

“Once everyone knows of Thorin’s choice there will surely be no serious objections.” Balin answers calmly.

Nash nods, musing to himself and now looking more curious than anything.

Thorin knows the question they all wish to ask him. But being king does have its perks, and it is impolite to inquire whether a Dwarf loves because their mate is their One or because they have chosen them. The first is rare and sacred, but the latter is just as precious in the way all love is.

It might be easier to admit that Bilbo is his One but Thorin has not even said those words to the Hobbit yet. And despite being royalty, he has always been uncomfortable with his personal life being so public. If he can he will keep this quiet, and only admit what he has long known to be true if serious objections arise.

“Is that the only concern?” Thorin asks and most of the Dwarves nod. “Very well. Then Hugin, I ask you to do your best to inquire into how my courtship with Bilbo will be received by the people. There will be no public announcements until you have finished.”

Hugin nods and Thorin nods back before calling the meeting to an end and sweeping out of the room.

Once the door closes behind him, he slumps a bit, relief washing over him, and he turns to lean against the wall and breathe out deeply. That had gone much, much better than he’d anticipated; even though, rationally, there is no reason why him marrying Bilbo will be a problem. But Thorin has learned that no matter what decisions he makes there will always be somebody to protest it. Even though none have done it to his face today, they are undoubtedly bound to do so for the foreseeable future. Today shock has stayed their tongues; he has no presumptions that it will keep doing so.

The door opens and Fíli and Kíli both appear. Thorin stands up straight but they’ve seen him, and Fíli shoots him an understanding smile while Kíli looks like he’s about to burst from all the words he isn’t saying.

“Not here.” Thorin says to them quietly, glancing down the hallway. He has a bit of time before he needs to hear petitioners. “Come.”

He turns and leads the way to his office, idly noting that Fíli falls into step on his right-hand side while Kíli does the same on his left.

“Uncle.” Kíli starts, but he doesn’t have time to finish before Thorin is opening the door and letting the three of them in.

He goes to the front of his desk and turns, leaning against it to face his two nephews, who are looking at him with almost identical expressions of expectation. “Now I will hear you.”

Fíli looks at Kíli who immediately starts speaking. “You and Bilbo?”

“Me and Bilbo.” Thorin dips his head.

“I- we didn’t know it was that serious between you.” Kíli says hesitantly. “Is he…?”

He looks at his eager sister-sons and feels his lips twitch at the corners. Perhaps admitting it will not be so bad. And it will bring less scrutiny from others, he is sure.

He will have to rectify his earlier decision and make it clear just how serious this is before it is cemented into the minds of his citizens that he was marrying Bilbo on a whim. Though Dwarves were usually never so careless. Even those who did not have a mate from Mahal typically only loved once. And those like Balin, who had no interest in such matters at all, preferred to remain alone.

But Thorin knows what the pull he feels to Bilbo is. The pull of his One.

“He is. I will love no other.”

They’re all quiet, the two brothers looking at each other before they turn and simultaneously break out into wide smiles.

“Congratulations Uncle.” Fíli says and Kíli nods earnestly.

“We never thought it would happen.”

Both Thorin and Fíli shoot him looks, but he just looks innocently back at them, the smile still all over his face. “What? We didn’t. Neither did Mum, to be honest. How many times did she go on about it to us, Fíli-”

“Anyway.” The older brother turns back to Thorin who is doing his best to appear displeased. To be honest he isn’t surprised, as he had been the last to think he would ever find someone to settle with. And he had never imagined that if he did, it would be one like Bilbo. “We’re happy for you both.”

“Thank you.” He says in return looking back at his heir. “I am sorry for the position it puts you in, Fíli. You will undoubtedly inherit the crown now.”

Fíli just shrugs and Thorin is struck again by how much older both of his nephews seem compared to the beginning of the quest. There is still a youthful air around them but after everything they’ve all been through there’s a newfound appreciation for the things that matter in life. A knowledge of how short that life can be, how easily all you love is taken from you, whether through your own fault or someone else’s.

Fíli’s reply draws Thorin’s attention away from his morose thoughts. “Not for a while yet. Besides, it’s not like I thought it wouldn’t happen. I was still your heir before.”

“I do not need to tell you how big of a burden it can be.” Thorin warns, and he knows they’re all thinking back to his years of leading the Dwarves from a burning Erebor to the Blue Mountains and Azanulbizar before then taking charge of a doomed quest and being overcome with Dragon sickness. “Though you are right. Hopefully you have years before it must fall to you. And I have no doubt you will do wonderfully.”

Kíli is still looking so excited he seems to actually shake. “So does that mean we call Bilbo uncle now too? What courting gifts are you planning for him? How long until the wedding? Have you told Mum? Can I be there when you do?”

“Enough,” Thorin says, but he’s smiling. “You call Bilbo whatever he asks you to. Our courting gifts are none of your business, though I have given one and have another in mind. We have no date in mind, as we will wait until announcing to the public first. As for your mother…” He trails off, a bit of nervousness curling in his stomach at the reminder of his sister before he pushes the thought aside. “I have not told her yet but when I do, I will do all in my power to ensure you are not there.”

Kíli’s face falls but perks right back up. “Is this why you were so calm about Tauriel and I?”

Thorin narrows his eyes. “Can I not just have matured as a Dwarf and uncle?” He asks and Kíli and Fíli both raise their eyebrows and exchange a look, making Thorin sigh. “Perhaps it had something to do with it.”

Fíli laughs and Kíli smiles so brightly it must be hurting his face. “When did it happen? When did you know? Can I be in the wedding ceremony? Does that mean you’ll have to make a trip back with Bilbo to the Shire for his things? What about his family? Do we get to meet them?”

“Kíli!” Thorin barks to interrupt him. “I would ask you to slow down, at least for the moment.” He tries to remember each of his nephew’s questions and rubs his forehead tiredly, even though he too is excited by all of the preparations that will need to be done. “I do not know how to answer when it happened, all I can say is it did, just as you and your Elf did. To pin it to one moment would be to diminish the others. As for when I knew… before the Dragon sickness. You will be in the wedding party if you wish it, as will you Fíli. Concerning the Shire…” Thorin frowns. “I confess I have not thought that far ahead. It depends on what Bilbo wants.”

“Erebor needs you here.” Fíli says quietly. “You can’t leave so soon after we’ve come back.”

“I am aware.” Thorin’s mouth twists.

“The Dwarves from the Blue Mountains could pass through or near the Shire on their way here. Perhaps they can get what Bilbo needs.” Kíli offers. “Mum wouldn’t mind.”

“Would she not?” Thorin asks wryly but the idea has merit and he nods at Kíli to let him know. “It’s plausible. Well thought, Kíli.”

“I’m full of good ideas you know.” His nephew pouts and when Fíli laughs Thorin’s mouth twitches and Kíli pouts further. “I am!”

“Sure.” Fíli steps back towards the door. “We should go. We only wanted to congratulate you.” He smiles wickedly. “Maybe we should go visit Bilbo to interrogate him. It’s so funny when he blushes.”

“You can try.” Thorin threatens sweetly, and Fíli’s expression goes from sly to nervous in a second at his uncle’s tone.

Kíli just laughs, making Thorin feel the full failure of his attempted intimidation on the youngest brother.

“We should still go see him.” Fíli says and he reaches the door before Thorin calls out to them.

“Boys.”

They turn, and again their looks are almost identical. No one would ever doubt they were brothers, no matter their differences in colouring, and their serious and expectant looks makes Thorin’s heart twist for a reason he couldn’t name.

“I know you said you were happy for us, and I appreciate that.” He meets both of their gazes equally serious. “But if you had any worries or… concerns about Bilbo and I, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Fíli’s smile turns soft and Kíli nods earnestly.

“Of course we would, Uncle.” The youngest brother says. “But we don’t. We love Bilbo.”

Fíli nods. “He’s good for you. We’ve seen it. Anyone who’s brave enough to stand up to you in one of your tempers is someone who you shouldn’t let go. They’re a rare thing.”

Thorin presses his lips together, nodding thoughtfully and brushing off the teasing. He does not think of his tempers as lightly as his family does, especially since he now has the authority to harm more than just himself if he steps a foot out of line. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

They’re both looking at him with those soft unreserved expressions they wore after the Battle of the Five Armies and while it sends warmth through Thorin he does have other things he needs to do today. Balin will be wondering where he’s got to.

“That is all.” He dismisses them and Fíli leaves without another word.

Kíli hesitates.

“Uncle?”

“Yes?”

“Now that you and Bilbo are official…”

Thorin looks at him closely. “Yes, Kíli, what is it?”

“I’d like to court Tauriel.” He blurts and turns a bit red. “Properly, I mean. Officially. Like you and Bilbo.”

Thorin blinks. “Right now?”

His nephew nods. “Yes. As soon as possible. I think there’s no use wasting any time when we know how we feel about one another, and since the Council didn’t seem to have any problems with you and Bilbo, now seems as good a time as any.” He tries to smile. “Besides, everyone else is more concerned with the destruction of Smaug and the war. It may be safer if Tauriel and I marry now, when everyone remembers what’s really important, rather than when there’s nothing else for people to get worked up about.”

The logic does make sense to Thorin and he thinks about the proposal seriously.

If he is honest it is the same logic he used to rationalize his courtship of Bilbo. Best to do the shocking things in a time of turmoil and upheaval, rather than when things were peaceful and people were bored and looking to make trouble over any little occurrence.

“I hear you,” he says finally. “And I agree.”

Kíli’s face brightens.

“But I will need to discuss it with others.” Thorin says and Kíli nods in understanding. “I do not anticipate many… insurmountable objections.”

“I know the biggest problem is that she’s an Elf.” Kíli says darkly. “But since we’re trying to make peace with the Elves and everyone saw them fight with us against Azog I think maybe now is the best time we’ll get.”

“You are probably right.” Thorin says, noting those two points to remember for when another Dwarf inevitably makes an objection based on Tauriel’s race. “I will discuss it with Hugin and the others by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Thorin nods and stands up himself. “Now I really must go. There is less time than I would like to have for myself as a king.”

Kíli nods and moves to the door. “I’ll go and visit Bilbo with Fíli.”

Thorin rolls his eyes but thinks Bilbo might enjoy the company. “Tell him I say hello.”

“Aww, Uncle, stop it!” Kíli teases. “If you were any more romantic I might blush.”

“Get out,” Thorin says fondly and Kíli does, laughing so loudly Thorin can hear him after the door is closed.

He waits until the blush has left his cheeks before leaving his office quarters himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, here it is. This is the big one. Thorin is so, so dumb, but please don't hate him too much.
> 
> “I loved you, I thought you knew. I wouldn’t have danced like that with any but you.” - In The Orchard by Muriel Stuart
> 
> ibinê- my gem  
> ghivashel- treasure of all treasures  
> amrâlimê- my love

He is with Bilbo in the sitting room outside of their bedroom. The Hobbit is curled sideways in his lap, head tucked on Thorin’s shoulder while the Dwarf reads aloud to him in Khuzdûl. They stop every few minutes for Thorin to translate and Bilbo quietly listens before repeating what Thorin requests back to him.

The fire is going in front of the armchair they sit in and Thorin is feeling tired and content.

“How was the meeting this morning?” Bilbo asks when the king lowers the book slowly, too sleepy to go on. “I am sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“You had more pressing matters,” Thorin says, kissing the hair on Bilbo’s head. “These rooms will not prepare themselves for our new citizens.”

“No.” Bilbo smiles. “The Dwarves returning from the Iron Hills should arrive next week. Dáin is looking forward to it.”

“Mila still refuses to come?”

“She will not leave baby Thorin.” Bilbo confirms Thorin’s suspicions of Dáin’s wife and son. “They are needed to rule in his stead.”

“Yes.” Thorin agrees. “He is anxious to get back to them.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Thorin angles his face down to meet Bilbo’s eyes. His blue meet the Hobbit’s hazel and he sees the knowing look in Bilbo’s eyes.

“How you like to tease me, _amrâlimê_.”

Bilbo presses his lips to Thorin’s neck in a quick kiss. “Perhaps I am just hungry for compliments tonight.”

“Mmm, are you? What shall please you to hear, then? If I tell you that I would give away every coin in this kingdom for your happiness would that satisfy your need?”

Bilbo laughs. “I was only kidding.”

“But I am not.” Thorin knows his expression is intense but he cannot help it. Dwarves love consumingly, they are passionate in everything they set their mind to. Sometimes Thorin was overwhelmed by his feelings for Bilbo. “The meeting went well. I told them of my intention to court you.”

Bilbo blinks in surprise. “Oh.”

The king frowns. “Are you displeased?”

“No, no. Not at all. I just didn’t know you were intending to do so today.”

“There is no reason to wait.”

“And?” Bilbo licks his lips nervously. “Were there any objections?”

“A few concerns that I assuaged at the time.” Thorin’s face grows grim in displeasure. “Nash did not seem happy, though from concern due to your race or the monarchy in general I could not tell. He brought up the issue of heirs.”

“You have Fíli and Kíli.”

“Yes. But with Kíli’s One being Tauriel, the future of their position in Erebor and the possibility of a family is not certain.” He frowns. “I do not even know if children between them is possible.”

“Surely it must be.” Bilbo exclaims. “Elves manage to procreate. We saw the proof of it in Lord Elrond and his sons, and Thranduil with his.”

“I do not know how their race is made and I have no wish to know.” Thorin grumbles, slightly disgusted from the topic. “I cannot imagine it is in the same way we Dwarves do. And I have heard children are rare for them. Rarer than even Dwarves.”

“Well forget them for the moment. There is still Fíli.”

“Yes.” Thorin admits. “But he is still young. I would not wish for him to take the throne now, and anything may happen in the future.” The words taste bitter in his mouth because of what they imply. “And he has not yet found his One or partner. We cannot know what the future of our line will be.”

“I’ve heard you all mention a One before.” Bilbo is watching him closely, curiosity writ across every part of his face. “But I do not know what you mean.”

Thorin blinks in surprise. “Do you not?”

The Hobbit’s mouth twists in impatience. “I would not lie to you. Will you tell me?”

He pushes aside his incredulousness. Had none of them explained the concept of a Dwarfs One to Bilbo before? Thorin is almost sure he has, but thinking back he cannot recall a specific instance.

“Of course, _ghivashel_.” He answers instead, wondering where to begin, and then deciding to explain from the start. “You know that we Dwarves were created by Mahal.”

Bilbo nods.

“He was impatient with Eru, who wanted Elves to be the first race but had not shaped them yet.” The kings mouth twists in displeasure. “So, against the wishes of Ilúvatar, Mahal made us as best he could. Our Seven fathers were created deep in the heart of one of Arda’s mountains. But Eru Ilúvatar was the only being powerful enough to give independent life and the Dwarves were bound to Mahal’s will. Once discovered by Eru who was displeased, Mahal was about to destroy them. My ancestor Durin was among the Seven and Ilúvatar took pity and bade the Seven to sleep in the earth until he had finished making the Elves and awakened them first. Only then were our fathers freed to wander Middle-Earth as they wished.”

Bilbo has been listening in rapt attention. “I enjoy hearing of your history my dear, but it has not answered my question.”

“Patience Halfling.” He chides. “The Seven were put to sleep by Eru and woken by him. But when they awakened they were not alone, and each of them but Durin had a wife by his side. These were their Ones, their life-partners. Many believe a Dwarf’s One is the other half of their soul. Dwarves love but once and fiercely, and we do not marry easily. Having a One is even more irreversible than love. Or so it is said.”

Bilbo cocks his head. “So your One… is the one you love?”

“Yes.” Thorin says gravely. “Not many of us Dwarves are blessed with having a One. Some do not marry at all, either from lack of interest such as Balin, or commitment to their craft like Bofur. There are those who love a Dwarf that will not have them and will end up alone.”

“How sad!” The Hobbit exclaims.

“It is a serious thing, for a Dwarf to love.” Thorin tells him, watching Bilbo closely. “We give ourselves completely and that makes us vulnerable. But it is how we are made, and none would change it. Having a One only makes these feelings more intense.”

For a long time Bilbo is quiet. He gazes at Thorin, and he looks back, feeling the Hobbit’s weight against his own body. The only sound in the room is their own breathing and the flames.

Bilbo’s head has long been tucked back on Thorin’s shoulder when he speaks. “So the Council is concerned that Fíli will find his One and they will end up being… not a Dwarf.”

“Yes.”

“Which will mean the future of Durin’s line will be of mixed race. Given that Tauriel is Kíli ’s One and you have chosen… me.”

Thorin’s arms tighten around him. The book has fallen down the side of the armchair, forgotten. “We cannot know what will happen. Fíli may marry a Dwarrowdam and this fuss will have all been for naught.”

Another long silence passes before Bilbo speaks, timid and sounding almost nervous. “Thorin. Us being together… if it threatens your position or your kingdom we do not need to marry.”

Thorin pushes at him gently until Bilbo pulls back to sit straighter, their gazes meeting. “What do you mean? Have you changed your mind?”

“Not at all.” Bilbo says softly, eyes searching his. He looks sad and Thorin’s stomach twists, unsure of what he has done or said to cause this. “But I know you, Thorin Oakenshield. Erebor has always come first and I will not ask you to change that for me.”

Thorin blinks in surprise. “It is not a choice of you or Erebor, _ibinê_.”

“Is it not?” Bilbo’s smile is shaky but knowing. Thorin’s heart clenches. “I worry you are wrong.”

“You worry too much.” Thorin chastises gently, cupping his smooth cheeks with his palms. “This is nothing. The Council and their worries were easily managed. We are to marry.” His thumb strokes a cheekbone softly, the metal ring on his finger warm between their skin and from Thorin’s body heat. “I will not choose between you and my kingdom, Bilbo. But I fear I must ask you to share me with it.”

Bilbo’s worry visibly leaves him as he relaxes. “I would expect nothing else. I will share you gladly, for to be with you at all is better than being alone.”

Thorin cannot help but kiss him at that, and Bilbo responds gently. The Hobbit runs his hands through Thorin’s thick and dark hair and heat flares in him at the gesture.

Abruptly Bilbo pulls away slightly to speak softly, hands running over Thorin’s hair and face, cupping the beard he has started to allow to grow out. “I do not know if Hobbits have Ones as Dwarves do. But there is no other for me, Thorin. I am yours, forever. Even if we cannot marry that will always be true.”

Thorin presses their foreheads together lightly, feeling the warmth of Bilbo as they rest against one another. “And I am yours, _amrâlimê_. Do not ever forget it.”

Bilbo’s smile is content. “Now take me to bed.”

The King Under the Mountain wastes no time in obliging.

* * *

It’s a few days later that he manages to make time for his meeting with Hugin and Thorin must confess he’s not looking forward to it. He sees it as a waste of time, another example of Dwarves taking ages to do something that should be straightforward and easy. There have been countless royal weddings in their history, even two at a time on occasion in the past, and that means there are routines and precedent already.

The fact that the proposed matches are both not Dwarves themselves is unusual, he will admit, but Thorin doesn’t see why it should matter. Especially given that one was paramount on the Journey of the Company, and both helped fight in the Battle and saved their partners’ lives.

Fíli even came up to him last night at dinner and mentioned that even though he was extremely happy for both his brother and Thorin, there was no chance that his future partner was not a Dwarf. When Thorin asked how he knew, his nephew had just shrugged mysteriously but promised that he was certain.

Bilbo had shot Thorin a questioning look and he’d been helpless to do anything but look back at his love, just as nonplussed. Perhaps it was Fíli’s way of trying to help them and set Thorin at ease. Whatever the reason for the abrupt statement, Thorin appreciated it.

So given that there are two male heirs and the royal line is secure, Thorin doesn’t anticipate Hugin bringing forward any problems. He may be in charge of public relations and gauging the mood of the people, but Thorin is king, and he has taken pains to be as open and available to the other Dwarves as possible. From what he has seen everybody has been focused on their families and rebuilding their home, not creating further problems and grievances.

But Thorin knows his duty and knows the value of getting a second opinion (now more so than ever). Which is why he has Hugin meet him in his office. Thorin is sitting in his chair at the desk with his crown sitting on the wooden surface, glittering sharply in the burning light.

“Your Royal Highness,” Hugin bows his head once the guards have closed the door behind him and his voice is silky smooth. Thorin takes in his dark brown hair, grown out just past his shoulders and his beard, thinner than is usual for Dwarves, parted cleanly in three sections. His black eyes flit up to meet Thorin’s expectantly.

“Hugin.” Thorin greets him and the other Dwarf raises his head before moving to come and sit down in the chair in front of Thorin’s desk. The king hides his slight annoyance as he continues. “Please, be seated.”

The other Dwarrow colours slightly, noting his impudence but doesn’t say anything. “Your Grace, I have done what you asked and spoken with the people of Erebor, taking note of their perception of… Lord Bilbo.”

He stutters over the title, making Thorin pause. He supposes he ought to give Bilbo some sort of honours and distinguish him among Erebor. His first thought is of Royal Gardener and he almost laughs right there in front of Hugin at the silliness of the idea.

Bilbo would probably like it though. It would never hold up to anyone else’s scrutiny, but perhaps Thorin could give his beloved a few titles and tack that one on at the end, as a joke between them.

No matter. Thorin makes a mental note to think on it later and turns his attention back to his royal advisor. “Wonderful. Did you by chance think to do the same for Tauriel as well?”

“For- for the Elf, sir?”

“Yes.” Thorin nods firmly. “Kíli has told me of his intention to court her.”

There’s a long silence after his words and Thorin watches Hugin closely, seeing the way the Dwarf blanches and his eyes widen before he carefully covers his expression.

A bad feeling curls slowly into Thorin’s stomach when he sees it, making him nervous. He takes pains to keep his mind from jumping to conclusions however and reminds himself that this is a cordial meeting. Hugin is just the messenger, after all.

He does get up to go to the nearby counter and grabs the crystal chalice of wine and a goblet, pouring himself a drink while he waits for the reply.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but that won’t be possible.” Hugin’s tone is firm and bordering on patronizing when he finally speaks.

Thorin sighs and turns around, drink in hand. He has expected this of course, and he is as eager to get through this portion of the conversation as possible.

“Of course it is,” he replies while taking a sip of wine. He savours the richness of the flavor, all the while keeping his attitude light. “My nephew is free to marry whomever he chooses.”

Hugin clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably, but nonetheless his gaze is steady as he answers his king. Hugin doesn’t mince words, something Thorin has always admired, but in this case he can’t say he likes the message the advisor is giving.

“No, sire. Perhaps in any other family of any other line it could be so, but not yours. Kíli is second in line to the throne, and that means who he marries is of as much concern to the people of Erebor as it is to your family.”

Thorin’s eyes narrow dangerously at Hugin’s implication. “You would take away his freedom?” He asks, and his voice is deeper now, edging its way towards being a growl.

“Only in this matter,” Hugin replies with sorrow, though his eyes were glinting in triumph and making Thorin hold back a snarl. So much for keeping this meeting cordial. “Your Majesty, he could have his pick of Dwarrows or Dwarrowdams but an Elf? It’s unheard of.”

“Many things were unheard of before Smaug came,” Thorin says, standing tall and trying to look the least bit imposing. If Bilbo were here he would laugh, but it is just Thorin with Hugin, and he feels some semblance of victory when the other Dwarf loses the smug look. “Now is a time to embrace change, Hugin, not shy away from it.”

“My apologies, Majesty, but I would have to disagree.”

Thorin blinks at the words. They sounded so polite on the surface, almost phrased as a suggestion, but the tone made it clear they are anything but. “Excuse me?”

“Erebor is not the stronghold it once was.” The advisor says, getting up and walking around the room. His hand trails along Thorin’s desk and when he brings his fingers up to look the tips of them are coated in thin dust. “People have lost loved ones in the Battle, others are uprooting their families and their belongings to return to Erebor. I would argue that they are not coming all this way to be surprised by,” Hugin wrinkles his nose, “inter-racial marriages.”

Thorin’s hand clenches around his cup.

“Stability is more important now than ever.” Hugin insists, eyes shining. “We have all already been through so much to get back to the home we had. That struggle succeeded because of the wish to return to the home we left, as it once was. A Dwarven home, with a stable line of succession. I think people would prefer to be spared any further… surprises.”

Thorin sets down his goblet of wine violently, not bothering to keep his tone pleasant any longer. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that the proposed union is inadvisable, Your Grace. Erebor’s people would protest and it would cause the monarchy extreme danger.” Hugin’s smile is sympathetic. “I would expect rebellions at the mere suggestion.”

“You are telling me it is impossible to garner approval for Kíli to marry the Elf?” Thorin’s heart twists. “He would not be opposed to waiting a year or two to allow people to settle before making the announcement. They could wait.”

Hugin is shaking his head before Thorin has even finished speaking. “I’m sorry, my king. Kíli’s union added to your own would be too much for Erebor to weather.”

Thorin tenses at the words. “Added to my own?” He growls. “There have been no objections to my proposed courting of Bilbo.”

No verbal objections, at least not since the Council meeting. Not to Thorin’s face. He is not so naïve as to believe his advisors are all overflowing with joy at the idea of a Hobbit as a consort to their king, but no reasonable arguments against it had come up, so he’d thought the matter was mostly settled.

“I- I meant no offense.” Hugin bows his head but Thorin can see the oily smile playing at the Dwarf’s lips, and really, how did this Dwarf become such a prominent member of the royal court? He exceeded at mind games and manipulation for his own gain, nothing more, and Thorin thought he was extremely easy to see through. “But if I could speak plainly, Your Majesty?”

“I wish you would as I grow tired of these games,” Thorin snarls.

“One marriage outside of the Dwarven race in your line would be manageable.” Hugin says quickly and Thorin’s heart sinks. “Indeed, your nephew’s might be easier to introduce to the public, despite the other party being an Elf, since it is unlikely Prince Kíli will ever sit on the throne.”

Thorin frowns. “But you have just finished telling me-”

“One marriage is possible.” Hugin interrupts, making Thorin bristle. “We could sway the public’s opinion and, if taken slow, it would be accepted. But not both, Your Majesty.”

“One.” Thorin repeats, stomach twisting in a way that makes him feel slightly sick. “But not both.”

If Hugin were a better actor, perhaps the falsely sympathetic look he was giving Thorin would have been believed. As it is, Thorin is too distracted to notice it.

“No. There have been threats that we have kept hidden from your eyes in an effort to spare you grievances. Lord Balin may attest to them. Written notes of violence, graphic depictions and more. If you were to publicly announce both engagements, I would predict harm would fall not only to the Elf but to your intended as well. I am afraid, Your Grace, it comes down to a decision between your own proposed courtship and your nephew’s.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Thorin finally says, voice shaky as his mind races with this information. “I am the king. What I say goes.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Hugin says, and his voice is dripping with pity. “But you are only the king so long as your people allow you to be. And a king’s duty is first and foremost to his subjects and their happiness. I am afraid,” Hugin squares his shoulders. “That your personal happiness must come second.”

Thorin stares at him in shock, unable to comprehend what Hugin is saying. Finally, he moves and slumps down in the chair behind his desk. A horrible feeling of dread is filling him, and as much as he wishes Hugin’s words were not true… he can’t be sure.

 _You yourself were skeptical of Bilbo when you first met_ , he reminds himself. _You cannot blame the other Dwarves for feeling the same._

But surely after all Bilbo has done for him, for them and for Erebor, surely the Dwarves would accept him? It shouldn’t be a problem.

 _Accept him as a Dwarf-friend, aye_ , a treacherous voice hisses in his mind. _Not as a member of the royal family._

His eyes close and he rubs a hand over his face.

The memory of his vows from when he was crowned king by Balin insidiously creeps through his memories, his own promises ringing in his ears.

_“And will you, Thorin son of Thráin, son of Thrór, of the Seventh line of Durin, place the wellness of Erebor and its people above that of yourself? Shall Erebor and its citizens have precedence over the wishes and wants of even your very self? Will you rule honorably and selflessly with the happiness of Erebor and your subjects as your charge?”_

_And Thorin, meeting Bilbo’s eyes, had replied. “I will.”_

“Your Majesty?” Hugin asks and Thorin’s eyes shoot open to see him standing and practically vibrating with smug glee in front of the desk.

“Dwarves would not separate a Dwarrow who has found his One,” Thorin says finally. “We all know it would be dooming the Dwarf to a life of solitude.”

For a second Hugin freezes and Thorin fills with victory. Hope rushes through him, the sick feeling leaves, and he can relax knowing that neither he nor his nephew will be left with such a life. If he lets it be known that Bilbo is his One, just as Tauriel is Kíli’s, then there will surely be no further objections. No threats of harm.

But then Hugin’s eyes grow determined and whatever understanding, whatever realization had filled him, it is gone and replaced with a harshness Thorin has never known in the other Dwarf before.

“As I said before, Your Grace, if you were any other bloodline that would be true. If Prince Kíli wished to wed any but an Elf, you could both be happy. But I am sorry, that is not the case. Your people would revolt, you would lose all respect, loved ones will be hurt, and Erebor would fall into chaos as the monarchy collapsed.”

Thorin flinches but Hugin continues.

“There would be more destruction, more fighting and surely countless deaths. We would have a civil war on our hands. And even if you won there would be assassination attempts, dissatisfaction within the people and a growing dissention.” Hugin’s eyes gleam as he delivers the final blow. “All the work your grandfather put in to build up Erebor and your family would be ruined. It will all have been for nothing. And I do not believe either Bilbo or Tauriel would be allowed to live in such a predicament.”

Thorin tries to think of some argument, any protest, but he can not. Dwarves are not unnecessarily violent, but he knows better than most what instability in a monarchy leads to. Unhappy citizens spread dissatisfaction and it only took one well-spoken Dwarf to stir those with greed in their hearts to action. There was already murmurs of putting Dáin on the throne rather than himself because of his gold madness.

When he finally speaks his voice is flat. “There is truly no way for both relationships to work? I do not have to marry. Bilbo could remain my… paramour.”

Hugin’s mouth twists sourly and he shakes his head decisively. “No, My Lord. It is a choice between one or the other, or neither. Both is an impossibility, unless you wish to risk their lives. This is what I had meant to tell you about the public’s perception of Bilbo and the Elf. Already rumors are spreading and dissatisfaction is rampant.”

Silence falls between them, broken only by the fires of the torches and the fireplace. Finally, Thorin nods once and very shortly. “You may go, Hugin.”

“My Lord-”

“Send in Balin, if you please.” Thorin’s voice brooks no argument as he looks at the younger Dwarf.

Finally, the brown-haired advisor bows. “Yes, my King.”

He backs away, but Thorin’s gaze is already elsewhere and the propriety goes unnoticed. He wouldn’t have noticed if the Dwarf had gestured rudely to him in Iglishmêk, never mind turned his back while walking away.

Thorin has much more pressing matters to think of. His stomach is twisting painfully, and a sickening fear is rising in him. Anxiety works its way through his blood, and he shakes his head to try and clear it.

He can’t think of any argument to what Hugin had said, no matter how hard he tries. Thorin is hoping that Balin will have some ideas, but if Thorin can’t think of anything, Thorin who has studied Erebor’s law since he was a Dwarfling, then it is unlikely his advisor will be able to, no matter how wise Balin is.

When the older Dwarf finally steps in Thorin is caught in a full-blown panic, eyes wide as he turns from where he is pacing, to look at his old friend.

“Thorin?” Balin’s voice is alarmed. “What is it? Has something happened?”

“ _Oh_.” Once Thorin has explained everything Balin falls back to sit in the chair across from the kings. Thorin has fallen into his own chair by the time he’s finished speaking. “Oh dear.”

Their eyes meet across the desk desperately.

“I am hoping,” Thorin says a tad shakily, “that you will be able to tell me Hugin’s claims are wrong.”

Balin only watches him helplessly, and Thorin breathes out deeply in resignation and rests his head in one hand, hiding his eyes for a moment. “Of course.”

“I-” Balin’s words are hoarse before he clears his throat. “I had not even thought of the possibility that there might be opposition to Bilbo. Though Hugin does speak true, there have been threats made towards Tauriel, which we have dealt with as best we could. But none have said such things to me about our Burglar, and I have heard no reports of anything insidious.”

“Yes, well.” Thorin’s bark of laughter is humourless. “It seems Kíli’s union added to mine will be too much to bear. Hugin was quite clear that while one marriage could be possible, two is out of the question. Even if Bilbo and I were not to be wed, it would be dangerous for the monarchy.”

“Thorin.” Balin breathes his name out in sorrow.

The king looks at his old friend, refusing to let any of his internal thoughts or feelings show. He suspects he only partially succeeds, given the way Balin’s face only falls further. “So you have no ideas?”

“I…” The white-haired Dwarf stops himself and shakes his head. “No. If what Hugin says is true and- and I dread to admit that it might be- I see no way to overcome it except for his own suggestion.”

Thorin nods, biting the inside of his lower lip and looking away.

“I thought as much,” he finally says.

“Oh Kíli. The poor lad.” Balin shakes his head, breathing out a long breath of air. “He’s too young to suffer in such a way.”

“Yes.” Thorin agrees resolutely, hardening his heart at what his words mean. “He is. Which is why he will know nothing about it.”

Balin’s eyes shoot to him quickly. “What? Thorin you can’t be saying what I think you are.”

“Hugin said one relationship could be possible.” Thorin says, turning from his old friend and refilling his goblet of wine. “Do you think that the Dwarves would accept Kíli and the Elf in time, if it was theirs?”

“Thorin,” Balin says in horror. “That would mean-”

“Do you think that would be possible?” Thorin demands while he turns around to stare down at the shorter Dwarf, watching his eyes widen at whatever expression is on Thorin’s face. He ignores it. “I believe so. If we let it be known that she is Kíli’s One then we should be able to manage. Especially given that Kíli will hopefully never sit on the throne, so it won’t appear that outsiders are influencing the monarch.” He stops short and swallows forcefully before sitting down again.

“Thorin.” Balin repeats. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course, I do!” Thorin snaps before catching himself. “But I see no other way, save giving up the monarchy altogether.”

Balin’s reminder is timid. “And that is not an option.”

Thorin wavers for only a second before slumping in his seat and looking away. “No, it is not.”

They are quiet for a long time.

“I could abdicate.” Thorin murmurs and Balin snorts.

“And hand the crown to Fíli?”

“He has not fallen in love with a Hobbit or an Elf,” Thorin says. “And he would allow us to stay here.”

“He is too young.” Balin says gently, regret dripping from every word. “He has not had his childhood. Besides, if Hugin’s claims are true than it would not matter whether you sit on the throne or not. Your mere presence here with Bilbo, alongside Kíli’s with the Elf, would be a slap in the face to every Dwarf in this mountain. It would stir doubt for your entire line. They’d likely be scared Fíli was about to take up with a Man.”

Thorin would have laughed in any other situation. “So there truly is no other way.”

“It does not have to be you who sacrifices-”

“Please, Balin.” Thorin stops him. “I beg you not to finish that sentence. The choice is already too tempting as is.” His face falls further in weariness. “But I could not do such a thing to Kíli.”

Balin’s words are harsh. “And you can to Bilbo?”

Thorin flinches.

“You forget, Thorin, that you are only half of your relationship. If you are to do this, what do you suppose it will do to him? That Hobbit loves you.”

“Don’t.” Thorin croaks. “Please.”

“You will be hurting him just as much as you do yourself, if not more. You think he’ll want to stay here if he cannot be with you? You’re sentencing him to a life-”

“Back in his home.” Thorin says. “In the Shire. And there he might find a Hobbit to settle down with.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. Hobbit’s don’t have One’s,” Thorin says stubbornly. “He told me. It will be painful, yes, but he is the only one out of us who has the possibility of moving on. I believe he will. He is stronger than any of us know.”

“I do not doubt his strength,” Balin says gently. “Though you seem to doubt his love for you. He may not have a One as we do, but he surely feels love all the same. I don’t think-”

“Well then it is a good thing it’s not your decision to make.” Thorin says cruelly and both of them sit and stare at one another. “If he moves on it does not mean he loves me less.”

“Fine.” Balin says finally, his words barely cutting through the thick tension. “Say Bilbo will move on. I highly doubt he will, but if that’s what you need to believe then I won’t waste time in trying to prove otherwise. Say he moves on, Thorin. What of you? You’ll be alone for the rest of your life?”

“I’ve been alone thus far.”

“You’ll be able to stay here, many months journey from him, knowing you will never see him again and that he is falling in love with somebody else?” Thorin physically recoils and Balin nods, though it’s not in victory. “That’s what I thought. We Dwarves are not made to suffer such heartbreak.”

“Balin.” Thorin speaks and he feels to almost be on the verge of tears. “What would you have me do?”

Balin opens his mouth but closes it quickly when no answer comes.

Thorin hangs his head.

“I have no choices.” He says. “This is not like retaking a mountain, old friend. The enemy is not from outside our walls. Either I sacrifice my nephew’s happiness or my own.” When he looks up his eyes are determined. “It is a hard decision, almost impossible.” He swallows dryly. “But in the end the answer will always be the same.”

“But Bilbo-”

“Will move on.” Thorin says quickly, because the alternative is too unimaginable.

He would never be able to do this if he believed Bilbo could not still be happy away from him. Especially if it kept him from harm.

“It can be done, I know it. He has the best chance of all of us.” He clears his throat. “I am king which means I must make sacrifices for my people. I’ve always known that.”

“Thorin.” Balin is blinking quickly at tears in his own eyes. “I cannot watch you do this to yourself.”

“You must.” The king replies heavily. “I am sorry, Balin, but that will have to be your burden to bear in all of this.” He shakes his head slowly, gathering his courage. “We must all suffer our losses, in the end.”

“Have we not given enough? Lost enough?” Balin demands.

“It is for Erebor.” Thorin says while turning away, and he is trying to convince himself as well as Balin. “No sacrifice is ever too great.”

There was once a time he would have believed that, no matter the personal pain he felt.

Now he isn’t so sure.

* * *

When Thorin was growing up he’d thought that being king would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do. Then Smaug had come and he changed his mind, thinking that leaving the mountain would be the most difficult thing in his life, knowing he would do anything to get back to it and never having the support to accomplish it. Of course, he’d re-evaluated when Frerin and then his father died. He’d been certain when they were gone that the hardest thing was to live without them.

Now he knows he’s been wrong. This, somehow convincing Bilbo that Thorin doesn’t love him, that he doesn’t _want_ him… this is the hardest thing he will ever have to do. Living without Bilbo will be the worst pain he’s ever gone through.

But he has to do it. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. If Bilbo thinks that there’s even a sliver of a chance for them to work he will fight for it with all he has. Thorin knows Bilbo, he knows his stubbornness, and he knows the Hobbit would succeed in getting what he wanted or die trying.

Thorin knows this, which is why he will have to make sure Bilbo thinks there’s no chance for the two of them.

He’s given it a lot of thought over the past day, which he spent avoiding everyone who came to see him. Bilbo had somehow slipped in his office past the guards, but even facing him Thorin couldn’t help but be distant. Which Bilbo had obviously noticed and pressed him about, before giving up in frustration and leaving Thorin to brood. He had been back this morning, hurt that Thorin had come to neither bed nor breakfast, and the king had sent him away with the last vestiges of his willpower.

He had already made his decision. And though it may well kill him, he sees no way to have what he wants. He must do what is best for the safety of Erebor, Tauriel and Bilbo, and for the happiness of those involved.

He thinks that he actually feels his heart crack from the way it wrenches painfully the moment he decided. Thorin has never understood it before, that common phrase of feeling your heart break, but he does now.

Now he is bursting through the doors to their quarters, not letting his determination waver or his feelings override what his brain is telling him must be done, as he speaks into the greeting parlour.

“I think it’s time you go back to the Shire.”

Bilbo looks up, startled at Thorin’s sudden entrance from where he’s sitting in his armchair. “What?”

“There’s nothing left for you to do here,” Thorin says, bracing himself at Bilbo’s look of confusion. He stops in the middle of the room, keeping distance between them. “Don’t you miss your home? I know you think of it often. It’s about time you leave and go back there.”

“Go home? But- Thorin, I am-”

“The Shire is your home.” Thorin interrupts, not wanting to hear Bilbo throw Thorin’s invitation to stay back in his face. He already feels wretched enough without having that verbalized. “Not Erebor.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo only sounds questioning, which somehow hurts Thorin worse than anger. As if the Hobbit can’t even fathom the possibility that Thorin is being serious. “What are you talking about? What on Middle Earth are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying you need to leave. You don’t belong in the mountain,” he replies bluntly, and Bilbo’s hands drop with the papers he’s holding, setting them on the desk before he gets up to come towards Thorin. Still his expression is open, confused and slightly hurt, but patient. Worried.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I’ve realized that enough is enough.” Thorin’s tone is firm. “I’m bored and you’ve stayed for too long. It’s time for Erebor to be rebuilt and to return to normal. A Hobbit living within its walls will not accomplish that.”

“Excuse me?” Bilbo demands, but there’s a dawning comprehension on his face coupled with uncertainty.

Is this all it takes to convince Bilbo that Thorin doesn’t want him, the Dwarf wonders. Has he truly failed to make his feelings clear?

 _This is what you want_ , he thinks to himself, but it’s closely followed by, _no_. _This is the last thing I want._

“You were a good bed-mate, Burglar.” Thorin says and Bilbo flinches at the old moniker. “And a valuable asset on the quest, something none could deny. Believe me, all of us were surprised, me most of all. But the quest is over, and it is time that you returned home. To where you belong.”

_I know you doubt me and you’re right. I often think of Bag-End. I miss my books and my armchair and my garden. See that’s where I belong. That’s home._

Bilbo’s expression can’t be described as anything other than desperate and Thorin bites the inside of his cheek quickly to stop himself from reaching out and taking back his words.

“But…” Bilbo’s voice sounds shattered. “But you said…”

Thorin waits, raising one eyebrow. His tone is colder than it has ever been. “Yes?”

“You said you loved me.” Bilbo says, looking up at him. “Dwarves don’t lie about that.”

“What do you know of Dwarves?” Thorin says, intentionally hitting on one of Bilbo’s most vulnerable points. Bilbo has always harbored the fear of being an outsider in the Company and later in Erebor, and it is a deep-rooted fear that Thorin knows has not completely gone away.

The others will convince him otherwise, he tells himself. The others will convince Bilbo that Thorin’s words right now are false.

This won’t ruin him. He’ll get over it.

But Bilbo looks as if he’s just been struck.

“More than that,” Thorin continues, using every shred of his willpower to force the words out, “when did I ever say I felt that way for you?”

“I…” Bilbo falters, obviously realizing that while Thorin has certainly implied it many times and hadn’t objected the assumption, he has never actually said those words to Bilbo. The realization yesterday had made Thorin hate himself even more.

 _You had all that time_ , he wanted to curse at himself. _And still you never said you loved him. Pathetic. Bilbo deserves better than you._

And Thorin’s resolve grows stronger by the teensiest amount.

Bilbo finally finds whatever words he’s searching for, meeting his eyes steadily. “You do. I know you do. You might not have used the word love, but you certainly meant it.”

Again, Thorin steels himself.

“I apologize for giving you that impression,” he begins, faltering when Bilbo flinches. His voice is noticeably weaker when he keeps speaking. “It was not my intention to lead you astray. I thought you knew what this was.”

“What this _was_? Thorin, talk to me, tell me what’s really going on, where is this coming from? You wouldn’t just-”

“I have told you. This,” Thorin gestures between them, “is over. This is where it ends. I need to marry, which means it’s time for me to seek out my One.”

It’s a lie, a grotesque one, but from the look on Bilbo’s face it’s doing the job.

“I can’t waste my time with dalliances anymore. Our courting was a way to while away the time, a passing fancy. I need to think of Erebor and stop pretending this is real. Especially with one who is a Hobbit.”

For the first time anger makes its way on Bilbo’s face. “I’ll give you enough time to take that back and tell me what’s actually happening before I allow myself to get upset with you.” His words are cold.

“You need it put simply?” Thorin says, finally at the end of his tether. His belief that this is the right thing is fading with each second and soon he’ll fall to his knees and tell Bilbo the truth and his selfishness will ruin them all.

“Fine, I will say this in the only way I know you’ll understand.” He draws in a breath, not sure how he’s been able to continue this for so long, and hoping it lasts until Bilbo leaves. “I don’t love you. I don’t want you here. You’re hurting the monarchy and I need you to leave and go back to the Shire. I _want_ you to leave.” Thorin says cruelly, resisting the need to smooth away the shock and hurt on Bilbo’s face. “There’s nothing for you here, Burglar. Your job is done. This is a Dwarven stronghold and we have no intention of permanently housing a Hobbit.”

Bilbo looks like he can’t speak and that’s bad, oh, that’s so bad, because if Bilbo doesn’t speak then Thorin can’t help himself, and every word that slips past his lips is only hurting them both more.

“You can take the reward promised to you from the treasury and say your goodbyes. I would prefer it, Master Baggins, if you were gone within a fortnight.”

“Don’t do this.” Bilbo whispers, defeat showing in the way he can barely even raise his head to look at Thorin. Instead his eyes are far and distant, gazing unseeing at the floor before lifting to pierce Thorin with their gaze. “Whatever this is, whoever is making you do this, don’t. Don’t push me away.”

 _Don’t let me_ , Thorin almost says but he catches himself just as his mouth is opening, snapping it shut with an audible sound of his teeth smacking together.

“Away?” He says instead. “Master Baggins, you have never been anywhere close to me. Now I do apologize for allowing this miscommunication to go on, I can assure you I had no idea. I thought you realized from the beginning what was between us. That was my mistake.” He straightens his shoulders, looking down at Bilbo and ignoring the feeling inside of himself that was screaming this was _wrong, all wrong, what are you doing you blasted_ fool-

“I will likely be too busy to see you off in the coming week and think it would be best if we said our goodbyes now.” He hesitates only a second before holding out a hand in the Human gesture, which Bilbo stares at as if it’s completely foreign to him. Maybe it is, at this point.

When several seconds pass and Bilbo makes no move to return the gesture, Thorin lets his hand fall, allowing his fist to clench only when it’s hidden within a fold of his cloak behind his back.

“Very well. I wish you safe travels, Master Burglar. If you ever return you will always be welcome within our gates to visit, though I suppose the possibility of that happening is rare.”

He flounders, wondering what else he could say and in the end all he does is bow his head. “Farewell.”

It’s interesting Thorin thinks as he turns and walks to the door, that at this point he doesn’t feel anything at all. In fact, he is completely numb. He fully expects this to be the last thing he ever says to Bilbo, the last time he ever sees him, and Thorin can’t feel anything.

His expression doesn’t falter when he turns away because he doesn’t let it. He makes it to the doorway and opens it with no change in his countenance, and is only stopped with his hand still resting on the handle when Bilbo’s voice calls out behind him.

“I love you.” The Hobbit says and Thorin freezes. There’s no anger or confusion in Bilbo’s voice anymore, only painful honesty, and somehow that is worse. “Even if it wasn’t real for you, it was to me.”

He almost turns around at that; and Thorin knows that if he had, he would have given it all up right there. He should have turned around, he thought years later. He shouldn’t have listened to Hugin in the first place and should have told Bilbo the truth.

He should have done a lot of things. The most important being that he should have told Bilbo he loved him. At least once.

But Thorin doesn’t turn and when he answers, his voice is remorseless. “Then for that you have my deepest apologies.”

He leaves without looking back, his last image of Bilbo being that of a heartbroken Hobbit, and the last thing he hears is the sound of a strangled sob right before the door closes.

* * *

It is raining the day that Bilbo leaves.

Thorin has left it to Balin to arrange a guide, and he is unsurprised when Gandalf shows up. He has that ever-present frown of disappointment on his face when Thorin finally grants him an audience.

He’s barely left his desk since telling Bilbo to leave, and when he has, it is only to bathe, use the toilet or sleep uncomfortably in the armchair in the room. He’s had reports from Balin and the servants that Bilbo hasn’t slept in Thorin’s bedchambers since that day, and that all of his things had been taken out, but he can’t bring himself to sleep in it regardless. It isn’t a fear that Bilbo will be there that makes Thorin avoid his own bed, but rather the fear (the knowledge) that Bilbo will not.

Gandalf finds Thorin looking and feeling less than his best. The Wizard is announced, and Thorin only just has time to steel his expression and push away the shot of nervousness at the appearance of his old friend, before he is striding into his office.

His grey robes stretch violently against his legs as the Wizard takes huge steps forward, moving with purpose. The frown on his face is worse than Thorin has feared and the disappointment and hint of confusion in his eyes does nothing to help. His staff is gripped tightly in his hand and when he stops just in front of Thorin’s chair he makes an intimidating figure indeed.

“So.” Gandalf says in lieu of greeting. “You have chosen to send Bilbo away.”

Thorin grits his teeth, wishing he had washed yesterday instead of choosing to drown his thoughts in work instead. His hair is growing lank and uncombed, his neck aches from sleeping in a chair, and he feels dishevelled and vulnerable as he meets Gandalf’s penetrating stare.

He knows he hasn’t looked this bad since he was healing from Azog’s stab wound.

Gandalf has seen Thorin at his worst during their quest, but this vulnerability is different. He feels transparent and he wonders if Gandalf thinks him as pathetic as he thinks himself.

“Gandalf.” Thorin inclines his head ever so slightly. “I trust your journey went well?”

“Quite well. The arrival, however, has been disheartening. I’ve spoken to Balin-” Thorin’s heart picks up slightly, “-and he has told me that Bilbo was asked to leave because he has overstayed his welcome.” One of Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows rises dangerously in question. “I was surprised, to say the least.”

Thorin rubs his brow quickly, feeling a headache coming on. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Will you sit?”

“Will this be a long conversation?”

“That depends on how short your temper is at this precise moment.” Thorin answers wryly.

Gandalf purses his lips but sits anyway and Thorin sighs, trying to find the right words. “Balin told you the truth. I have asked Bilbo to leave.”

“And why would you be so foolish?”

Speaking through gritted teeth is something Thorin had perfected long ago. “Because Erebor is a home for Dwarves. Not Hobbits. No matter how valuable he was on the quest-”

Gandalf snorts and Thorin’s tired expression hardens into a glare.

“-he is not a Dwarf and does not belong in Erebor, Gandalf. He himself has told me he misses his garden and the Shire. His home is waiting for him far away and the longer we keep him here the longer it will take for him to return and settle back into his real life.”

Gandalf looks extremely unimpressed. “And why must it be now he leaves? The Dwarves in Erebor are far more concerned with settling their families and getting their kingdom up and running again. Their own lives surely concern them more than that of a single Hobbit living in their walls. One who helped reclaim this mountain for them, no less. Bilbo is spoken of with nothing but fondness by your people.”

Thorin’s hands are sitting in his lap and he clenches them. “I have been informed that if Bilbo stays, public perception of him may change and it may become dangerous. When the Dwarves of Erebor are settled they will want things to go back to how they once were.”

“Surely they realize that is impossible.” Gandalf says incredulously. “Your people have been changed forever by what happened with Smaug and Azog.”

That had been what Thorin thought as well, he remembers. Hugin’s words come back to him just as quickly.

“Which is why we need stability more than ever.” Thorin says, trying to sound as if he means the words. He leans forward ever so slightly. “Kíli wishes to marry the Elf, and Dwarves, as you are so fond of pointing out, are stubborn. We need stability now Gandalf. We have all earned it, after years of strife.”

“I do not disagree with what you deserve, my friend. But Bilbo also proved himself on the quest, as you have said. He deserves respect from the people he has helped save, wouldn’t you say?”

Gandalf’s eyes narrow at whatever expression Thorin makes at his words, making the Dwarf suspect he has not hidden his own torment as well as he thought. Or maybe the immortal is just excellent at reading people.

“There’s more,” the Wizard guesses, and he leans forward as if ready to hear a secret. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

“There are some matters you cannot meddle in Gandalf.” Thorin says tiredly, finally unclenching his hand. “Some that are beyond even your planning and crafty solutions.”

“Does Bilbo know whatever this secret is?”

Thorin doesn’t reply and now the anger from before is evident in the Wizard’s expression.

“I had thought you treated the people dear to you with more respect, Thorin Oakenshield.” The voice and the title are a condemnation and Thorin flinches at the judgement. “Especially those you love.”

“You know nothing about it.” Thorin says, trying desperately to keep his temper. “This has nothing to do with you. Balin has asked you to guide the Hobbit home-”

“Oh ho, he’s the Hobbit now I see.” Gandalf’s expression grows darker. “Has your relationship soured? Is it rejection that makes you send him away?”

Thorin’s temper snaps and his voice is a growl. “No. And I would thank you not to mention that… aspect of my association with him again. It is, as you can surmise, over.”

“When I left things between you two were well.” Gandalf says. “What has changed?”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business, Wizard.”

“Bilbo is my friend. I would say you are as well, though you might not say the same. That makes your happiness my concern.”

“Then take the word of your friend, Gandalf.” Thorin meets his eyes and takes a quick breath at the pity he sees in them. “Leave it. Please.”

The Wizard purses his lips again. “I suspect this is one of those instances in which you are being extremely foolish, King Under the Mountain.”

Abruptly Thorin remembers when Gandalf had yelled that title to him from below the ramparts of Erebor. When Thorin had held Bilbo by the shoulders and had him hanging hundreds of feet above the ground, threating to kill him then and there.

“I am doing what is best for Bilbo. And Erebor.” Thorin says, doing his best to convince himself as well as Gandalf. “Like always. If that requires some feelings to be hurt,” his stomach sours at his own words but he keeps speaking regardless, “then it is worth it.”

There’s silence following his words and then Gandalf stands abruptly. “I see I cannot sway your decision.”

Thorin swallows. _You haven’t tried hard enough_ , he wants to say.

Instead he manages to quirk one corner of his mouth up in a shadow of a smile. “You cannot.”

“Then I will leave you, as you are obviously busy.” Gandalf bows his head. “Bilbo and I will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

Thorin’s heart clenches but his expression doesn’t change. “Very well. I wish you both a safe journey.”

“Hmm.” Gandalf replies unhappily. “You won’t be seeing us off?”

Thorin waves a hand over the documents littering his desk. “As you said, I am quite busy.”

“Of course.” Gandalf bows his head again but this time the gesture seems empty. “Until next time, King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin nods in reply. “Take care, Gandalf.”

Gandalf walks away but hesitates at the door. “It is a long journey back to the Shire.” He says gravely. “You must know that once Bilbo makes it, it is unlikely he will come back.”

Thorin takes in a breath. “The Shire is where he belongs. He will be safe and happy there.”

Gandalf only looks at him, eyes searching, but he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, and disappointment is clear in every bit of the Wizard’s features. “Very well.”

And that is that.

But Thorin can’t help himself.

It’s dark and early, so Thorin hasn’t seen any of the other members of the Company the day Gandalf and Bilbo are to leave. He hasn’t slept at all and is staring at a piece of paper on his desk, the words unfocused as his mind refuses to concentrate on whatever the report is about.

He can’t stop thinking about Bilbo. Thorin’s unsettled and fidgeting, and without giving himself a moment to rethink he hastily scribbles a quick note, gets up and makes his way to his throne.

It’s before sunrise and the guards are unaware of the king sneaking through the hidden royal tunnels of Erebor, which makes Thorin feel a bit guiltier about what he’s doing, but he doesn’t change his mind.

Afterwards he goes to the stables to find Dwarves getting the horse and pony ready. Quickly, without looking at anybody, he makes his way over to the pony that is Bilbo’s and slips the note and the hurriedly wrapped object into one of Bilbo’s packs.

Then, ignoring the looks and bows he gets from the Dwarves in the stables, he makes his way up to the rampart in time to see one Dwarf leading the animals out to Gandalf and Bilbo who are standing at the bottom of the gate with the Dwarves from the Company.

There’s no way Thorin can suffer through all the goodbyes that will take place below, but he thinks if he watches as Bilbo retreats then that will be enough to help him. If he sees the evidence with his own eyes, he will be able to convince himself that Bilbo isn’t hiding around the corner in every hall of Erebor, waiting for him with bright eyes and a warm smile.

This is what he tells himself.

But the voices carry from down below. Thorin looks down and sees them all gathered at the mountain’s entrance. Most of the Dwarves are dressed and ready for the day, though a couple (Kíli and Ori) seem to still be in nothing but a tunic and trousers, both holding back yawns at intervals.

Bilbo is kit in newly made travel clothes. They’d been made on Thorin’s orders even before he’d asked Bilbo to leave, because the Hobbit’s old clothes were practically rags by the end of the Battle. He’d ordered them made in dark royal blue and silver, Thorin’s own colours.

He wonders if Bilbo has noticed that, and then hurriedly pushes the thought away. It doesn’t matter now.

At first all Thorin hears is the Dwarves talking over one another, their deep voices drowning out anything Bilbo might be saying in reply. Gandalf is smiling but eventually he leaves to go and tend the horse and pony, both of which are beginning to shift restlessly. Finally, a silence falls.

“Right, where’s Thorin then? Even the king can’t have that much to do this early. He’s already late.”

Thorin’s stomach clenches, trepidation and guilt filling him at Bofur’s words. The other Dwarves are nodding, looking about themselves as if expecting that he’s hiding somewhere nearby and Thorin pulls back so that if they look up no part of him would be visible on top of the rampart.

He doesn’t like being up here. This place is filled with nothing but bad memories now. Guards who had stood up here screaming from Smaug’s first breath of fire, Thorin barely escaping with his life from the Dragon, Bilbo being held over the edge, declarations of war being made and now, finally, watching as Bilbo left.

There’s nobody to blame but yourself, a voice in his mind whispers, and Thorin is sorely tempted to give in to that voice. He can go down there now and fall at Bilbo’s feet, confessing everything and hoping the Hobbit will forgive him. Thorin thinks Bilbo would. He thinks Bilbo would stay and though he would be angry, in time he would come to see Thorin’s side of things.

But that would mean making Kíli miserable for the rest of his life.

Thorin can’t do it.

“Ah, I’m sorry to say lads that he is preoccupied this morning.” Balin’s voice is grave and not convincing at all to Thorin’s ears.

“What?” Several of the Dwarves speak in outrage.

“He wouldn’t miss this.” Dwalin says confidently and Thorin winces. Dwalin is going to be a problem. “I’m sure he’s coming-”

“Thorin and I have already said goodbye.” Bilbo says firmly, and Thorin closes his eyes tightly. “Balin’s right. He’s not coming.”

“Ridiculous.” Glóin scoffs.

“But you two- of course he’ll come and say goodbye.” Kíli sounds so innocently confused that Thorin’s stomach twists further.

“He wouldn’t just let you leave, even if it is only for a little while.” Fíli says confidently.

Thorin frowns at that. What has Balin told the others to excuse his absence lately? For that matter, what has Bilbo told them? The Dwarves don’t seem to have much clue about why Bilbo is going. Or that it’s not a temporary trip.

“He understands.” Bilbo says and Thorin’s frown deepens.

“Bilbo.” It’s Gandalf’s voice now. “If we want to reach the destination I have in mind for resting tonight, we must leave now.”

“Of course.” Bilbo calls back and Thorin looks back over the ledge of the rampart, eyes focused on Bilbo and Bilbo alone. The Hobbit’s hands clench quickly and then he makes a vain attempt at a smile, one that Thorin can tell is forced even as far away as he is.

“We’ll miss you laddie.” Balin quickly pulls Bilbo close and Thorin sees the Dwarf whisper something in the Hobbit’s ear.

Bilbo jerks back but Balin holds him close and finishes whatever he’s saying. The Hobbit shoots him a look and Balin releases him, only for Bilbo to be swept up by Fíli and Kíli.

But the Hobbit keeps glancing at Balin and he seems to look almost hurt. Thorin looks at Balin too, wondering what his old friend had said.

“Bye Bilbo.” Fíli says.

“You’ll have to come back soon.” Kíli grins devilishly. “For my wedding.”

Bilbo finally seems to refocus on the others.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He says kindly with a smile but Thorin knows that the chances of Bilbo coming back here are non-existent.

“Take care then.” Dwalin claps Bilbo on the back roughly, but the Hobbit doesn’t stagger too much. Bombur nearly breaks his ribs in a hug, Bifur hands him a carved figure, and Bofur hugs Bilbo as well. Glóin shakes his hand and Óin gives him a nod. Dori hugs him while sniffling, and Ori grips him tightly. While Nori hugs him, the thief’s hands try to slip into Bilbo’s pockets, but the Hobbit slaps them away while laughing a bit tearfully.

“I suppose that’s it then.” Bilbo says, and the others don’t seem to notice his gaze lingering on the doors, as if waiting for them to open.

A moment passes and he clears his throat, speaking loud enough for Thorin to hear as he wrenches his eyes back to the Dwarves in front of him. “If any of you are ever passing Bag-End…”

He trails off before seeming to decide what to say. He’s visibly struggling with tears, and whether it’s from the goodbye or something more, Thorin feels a pang at the sight.

“Tea is at four. There’s plenty of it.”

Thorin turns away, feeling very weak all of a sudden. The guards have been dismissed by him earlier, and with nobody to see, he slowly slides down to sit leaning against the short wall behind him, listening to Bilbo’s last words to them.

“You are welcome anytime.” Bilbo continues and Thorin’s eyes prickle as tears appear, caught in his eyelashes. “And…”

He hesitates for a while but when Bilbo speaks again his voice is the softest Thorin has ever heard it, so quiet he has to strain to make it out.

“Take care of Thorin. Please.” There’s a short, painful laugh. “I need to leave. To go back home. But he still needs you all to look out for him, don’t think he doesn’t.”

Thorin’s heart squeezes painfully and he looks up, blinking quickly as there’s watery chuckles below.

“Well. Goodbye then.” The sound of Bilbo hoisting his pack higher on his shoulder. “Best of wishes for you all.”

“We’ll see you soon, Bilbo.” Kíli calls. “It’s not goodbye forever.”

Another tense silence.

“If any of you ever do find yourselves in Bag-End… don’t bother knocking.” Bilbo finally replies and the others all snigger again.

After that there’s nothing and it’s obvious the farewells have all been said and Bilbo has left. When Thorin finally hears the doors open and the Dwarves grumbling amongst themselves he stands up, eyes dry, and turns to see Bilbo and Gandalf riding away, their figures already shrinking as they make their way towards Dale.

Thorin watches helplessly, and it’s as if Bilbo senses his gaze because the Hobbit turns around, taking in the retreating sight of Erebor and catching sight of it’s king standing small and alone on top of the rampart.

They make eye contact as the sun rises, light piercing through the rain, and despite the distance between them, he sees so much pain and longing on Bilbo’s face that Thorin is proven wrong.

He’d thought this couldn’t hurt any more. Bilbo’s expression makes him realize how foolish he’s been.

There’s no farewell smile or wave between them. Thorin stares out at Bilbo, unsure of the expression on his face. Surely it must be as pained as Bilbo’s? Surely there’s no doubt of his own agony?

Whatever it is, Bilbo’s face doesn’t change; and after a long moment and with a decisive turn of his head, the Hobbit looks away, back in front of himself and towards Dale.

He does not look back and it’s a long time after Gandalf and Bilbo have completely disappeared that the rain gets worse.

It is a long time after that when Thorin finally leaves to go back inside the mountain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin pines. Months pass. Thorin pines some more.
> 
> Mizimith- jewel that is young  
> Namadinùdoy- sister-sons  
> inùdoynamadaz- sons-of-sister

Erebor is in pandemonium within two hours.

“The Arkenstone!” Dwalin is yelling down the hall so loudly that Thorin can hear him before the door to his rooms even bursts open. “The Arkenstone is missing!”

Thorin stops where he is, caught while slowly wandering about his bedroom. He had expected to feel a difference, to find it changed from before Bilbo’s stay, but it is the same as ever. Still his bedroom, with its surfaces covered in small family gifts, books, papers and quills. Clothing ordered neatly in the closet, fire crackling softly, bed the same colour, just as soft.

He’s been wandering around his rooms since Bilbo left, expecting to have to reacquaint himself with everything, but it’s the same as it was before Bilbo was here. None of the Hobbit’s things remain, every little piece of him has been taken out. Every change they’d made together has been reversed as if it was never made in the first place.

There’s no sign that Bilbo was ever a resident in this place at all.

The thought weighs heavily in his mind before Dwalin’s voice reaches him from the hall. Thorin tenses quickly at the yelling and that’s all he allows himself before making a furious expression cross his face as he turns to meet his friend just when the door opens.

“The stone is missing?” Thorin demands. “How? When? It was there only last night.”

He sweeps out of his room in front of Dwalin and the others, making his way to the throne room and not waiting for them all to catch up. Hugin hurriedly moves to walk beside him.

“Your Majesty, it must have been sometime in the night. We’re questioning all of the guards-”

“The Elf lass.” Dwalin growls. “She’s been here for weeks now, she’s learned the lay out and was likely waiting until the right moment. With all of us distracted at Bilbo leaving today it was the perfect time.”

Thorin frowns briefly. He hadn’t meant for Tauriel to come under suspicion. “While your feelings are noted, I do not think Tauriel is to blame. What use could she have for the Arkenstone now that she is staying with us?”

Dwalin growls. “Don’t ask me to understand the mind of a bloody Elf, Thorin.”

Balin sighs beside his brother. “We will ask both Kíli and Tauriel if they have any idea where it could be, but I highly doubt that will yield any answers.”

“Some other Elves then! Tauriel took the stone and gave it to them-”

“Elves have never resorted to sneaking into another race’s stronghold and stealing from them.” Balin interrupts. “They are an honorable people in that regard, at least.”

“Who are you suggesting then, brother?” Dwalin growls.

Balin’s face grows dark and he glances at Thorin warily. “I hesitate to say it, but perhaps, given that he left only this morning on the same day-”

“It wasn’t Bilbo.” Thorin interrupts and the others look at him in surprise. “Nor do I suspect Gandalf. Leave them be.”

“Thorin, you can’t be sure.” Balin hesitates. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken the Arkenstone without telling any of us.”

“That was entirely different,” Thorin says, turning his head to pin Balin with his stare, surprised at the accusation. “And you know it.”

The keep hurrying through the hallways but Balin ducks his face in shame. “Yes, I admit it wouldn’t serve him any purpose now, would it? He always was the least interested of us all in the thing.”

They reach the throne walkway and are met with other Dwarves standing and looking up at the empty space where the Arkenstone used to be. Yelling fills the air and even Thorin’s arrival only lowers the volume to a dull roar. He feels eyes on him, his people waiting to see what he will do, what his orders will be.

He does not disappoint. The words are ready on the tip of his tongue. He’s had all morning to prepare them after all.

“Question the guards who were on duty. Tell anybody with any information to come forward and that there will be a reward for helpful tips. The Arkenstone is not something easily hidden, and if it is still in this mountain, we will find it.”

Dwarves run off as soon as he finishes speaking. Hugin glides over to stand by Faji and Thorin turns back around and strides up to the throne, answering questions and trying to appear as calm as possible all the while to stave off some sort of mass panic.

The hole where the Arkenstone usually is seems to stare down at him, gaping and empty.

Eventually after nearly half an hour has passed Thorin presses his lips together. There is only a small group of Dwarves around him now and it is to them that he speaks, keeping his voice low.

“We must prepare ourselves for the possibility that the stone will be lost to us forever.”

“Thorin!” Dwalin and Balin both gasp.

“Your Majesty no, of course we’ll find it again.” Hugin assures him. “It’s only a matter of searching.”

“Don’t make it your top priority.” Thorin says and all the Dwarves look at him as if he’s announced he’s going to run naked through the market down below. He holds back a sigh. “There are still families moving in. The caravan from Ered Luin will be arriving soon with the rest of our people. We need to continue to prepare for them as we have been doing already. Food stores must be restocked, the piping needs to be flushed, rooms and housing prepared. There is much to do.”

“But Thorin…” Balin sounds bewildered. “It’s the Arkenstone.”

“It is precious.” Thorin concedes. “But it is a stone. What matters more are our people. Our family and friends. Is that not so?”

Lila, one of the highest-ranking guards, bows her head, surprising Thorin. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Others look unsure and the glances exchanged between the Dwarves prove to Thorin that they will not be so easy to persuade.

“We will look for it.” Thorin says finally. “But not so much that it interferes with other, more pressing matters. Erebor was not founded on the back of the Arkenstone. We are not defined by one gem. We are a people, a strong kingdom known to all of Middle Earth. The heart of the mountain is not one rock,” Thorin says. “It is the hearts of us all.”

It takes a long time, but eventually the Dwarves disperse, more than one shooting a doubtful look at their king. A few verges on suspicious. Mutters follow them out.

Thorin shrug them off. The Arkenstone is the King’s Jewel. If they believe that he has done something with it, it is well within his rights. He has proved himself capable of leading the Dwarves time and time again. He has given all he can to Erebor. He doesn’t need the Arkenstone to cement his ability to rule any longer.

Word spreads quickly that the Arkenstone, the jewel the Dwarven armies were willing to go to war over, has been lost once again.

Bard expresses his condolences the next time Thorin sees him, making the Dwarf shrug, which in turn makes the man raise an eyebrow in curiosity. Thranduil’s next letter concerning trade between their people holds more barbs about losing the Arkenstone than actual plans, but Thorin is willing to overlook them, at least the first time. It is only to be expected.

It is the Dwarves he worries about most and surprisingly- or perhaps not- after a few weeks of outrage and frantic searching, they begin to accept the loss. There are mutters and yearning glances at the empty space above the throne, but no suspects are brought forward, and no one begins any fights over it, at least not to Thorin’s knowledge.

It comes to be a horrible moment in their history, but one overshadowed by the many other matters that need attended to.

Thorin tells himself it is a sign of change for their people, a good omen. They do not have to be ruled by the gems they dig up and the treasure they are so fond of. After Smaug’s attack on Erebor and the journey and battle to reclaim it, the Dwarves of the Seventh Kingdom have more than learnt where treasure ranks on a list of priorities. Even the Arkenstone is something they can live without.

It makes Thorin proud to see. And every day when he walks up to his throne and sees the gem’s old spot, he feels a pang in his heart.

But it is not for the loss of the Arkenstone.

He wonders if Bilbo had even found it yet, and if he has, what his thoughts are.

Thorin pondered whether Bilbo realizes that Thorin has claimed the stone as his fourteenth share of the treasure and chosen to give it to Bilbo. The King’s Jewel, his most prized possession, the Heart of the Mountain.

The Heart of the King.

He hopes Bilbo realized, even though that knowledge is exactly what Thorin had been trying to discourage before he left. No hope would probably be easier for them both, especially Bilbo, but Thorin hadn’t been capable of sending him away with nothing.

Balin had warned him that Bilbo was hardly taking any coin with him. Two chests, one of silver and one of gold, along with a shield and brooch. All of that together hardly made up a four hundredth share of Erebor’s treasure, never mind a fourteenth.

Besides, Thorin had rationalized to himself as he had wrapped the stone and put it in Bilbo’s traveling bag the morning the Hobbit had gone. Bilbo had found and claimed the stone first. It was his by rights. But if it takes Thorin claiming it as his own as well, to justify sending it away with Bilbo, then he is willing to do so.

More than willing.

He sighs and pores over the mining reports from that morning. His eyes are dry and he is tired from getting up so early but he suffers through it, taking the time to reread the sentences he hadn’t paid attention to. His heart still hurts and feels heavy in his chest and he is quickly beginning to suspect that it is going to be a permanent feeling from now on.

The mining was looking hopeful, Thorin notes. They’ve been working on an old and abandoned diamond mine, and another team has just discovered a deposit of silver which is bound to bring in large amounts of income to Erebor.

So, despite taking an hour to read a report of barely half a page, Thorin feels a muted pleasure. Erebor is doing well. Erebor is thriving. That is what matters.

After everything it is one of the only things that matters now. Thorin has not given up nearly everything just to let life in the mountain pass him by. He is going to ensure the Seventh Dwarven Kingdom exceeds everybody’s expectations, even his own. Thorin is determined not only to bring it to the former glory of his grandfather’s days, but to do better.

If nothing else, Erebor will be happy. Thorin is going to make sure of it.

But today he thinks he might take the day off.

He puts the paper down and stares blankly at the writing on it. His mind isn’t in it and he can’t go a minute without thinking of Bilbo. It isn’t even supper yet and Thorin still feels a bit of himself rising up treacherously in the hope that Bilbo will turn around and come back.

If he did Thorin knows he would welcome him happily. Propriety be damned, custom and the monarchy be damned, if Bilbo came back to him there would be no force on Middle Earth that could get Thorin to refuse him.

When his door opens Thorin actually stands up, thinking he has been right and Bilbo was there, he was coming back to Thorin to knock some sense into him and-

-Fíli’s worried face meets Thorin’s hopeful one.

Thorin’s entire being sinks in defeat and he makes his expression carefully blank as he falls back into his seat. “Hello Fíli.”

“Uncle.” Fíli is worrying his lower lip, a habit Thorin had thought he’d broken years ago.

Thorin fills with concern immediately. “What? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, only…” Fíli comes forward from leaning against the wooden door to sit in front of his uncle. “The Company is a bit confused about Bilbo.”

Thorin blinks, a bit nervously. Balin had told him that he and Bilbo had taken care of an excuse for why Thorin has sent him away, and that the Company, even though not all of them had seemed happy, still seemed to believe it. “What about him?”

“Well,” Fíli frowns and speaks slowly. “I suppose it’s more that we just don’t understand.”

“Spit it out, Fíli.”

“Why would Bilbo suddenly want to go home? He was happy here, we know he was, and then barely a week ago he came and told us he was leaving. Because he missed the Shire. Just like that.”

Thorin swallows. “Is that what he said?”

Fíli nods, not noticing Thorin’s tone. “We just don’t see why he would leave when everybody knows that the two of you…”

Thorin’s stomach sinks. Was this Balin’s idea? The excuse that Bilbo was homesick and simply decided Erebor wasn’t for him and he missed the Shire?

“He wanted his home.” Thorin says eventually, cowardly. “I think each of us can understand that.”

“But he loves it here.” Fíli protests, not understanding. “He- the two of you were going to get married-”

“Never mention that again.” Thorin snaps, sharp as a whip and Fíli startles, making him immediately regret his outburst. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “He’s gone home, Fíli. Where he’ll be happy. You wouldn’t want him to stay here and be miserable forever, would you?”

“No, of course not.” Fíli says softly before hesitating. “So… when he left, that means the two of you…?”

Thorin looks away, taking care to appear calm. “There’s no longer anything between us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Fíli breathes out harshly. “But Uncle… he was your One.”

Thorin’s heart twists. “That’s impossible Fíli. Hobbits don’t have Ones as Dwarves do. They are not made by Mahal as we are.”

“What? But I thought- you said-”

“I never said he was my One. As to the rest… I was mistaken.” Thorin says, still looking away from his nephew and not seeing the sudden understanding and sympathy on his face. Seconds pass by in suffocating silence and Thorin studies the papers on his desk, wishing to be anywhere but here. Wishing that he had been clear and honest and told others that Bilbo was his One so that it would not be so easy to lie to them all now

“He loves you though.” Fíli says quietly. “We all saw it.”

“Sometimes love is not enough.” Thorin tells him. “Sometimes the barriers are too great, the people too different.”

They’re quiet for a long time, Thorin lost in his thoughts and Fíli in his, before his nephew suddenly jumps up in an outburst. “How could Bilbo do that? Just leave you here? Leave all of us? Why wasn’t Erebor enough?”

“Fíli,” Thorin says in alarm at the anger in his nephew. He is still only recently healed and Thorin will not have him overexert himself. “It is not his fault.”

“He broke your heart,” Fíli spits. “And we should forgive him for that?”

“He did nothing of the sort!” Thorin rises to his feet, expression fierce and dark. “Now you can all think what you will, but I will not allow you to blame Bilbo. If you are looking for the guilty party, then it is I.”

“He’s the one who left!”

“I’m the one who sent him away!”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “What?”

Thorin curses internally. “I… he would have been miserable here, eventually. He spoke to me of the Shire often and I could tell he missed it. So I told him to go back.”

“Why would you do that? You love each other. The two of you should be together.”

“Listen to me _inùdoynamadaz_. What is between me and Bilbo is done, forever. I put an end to it and sent him home. We were not meant to be, and it was foolish of me to jump to conclusions and say otherwise. He is gone and that is the end of it.”

“So all of this, Bilbo leaving, you not coming to say goodbye… it is your fault?”

Thorin swallows. “Yes. It was my decision.”

“Then why are you so miserable?” Fíli demands and Thorin hates to see the disappointment in his eyes. He has not seen that expression from either of his nephews before and shame cuts through him because of it. “Why don’t you care about anything else; even this morning with the Arkenstone, you barely bothered enough to send people searching the mountain. What has happened to you, if not a broken heart?”

“Enough,” Thorin says quietly, anger beginning to stir in him as his nephew continues to press the issue. “I will hear no more. You and the others may think as you like but things are as they need to be. Erebor is my highest priority, and I allowed the Hobbit to cloud that. Now I can get back to what is important.”

“I thought you were over the Dragon sickness,” Fíli spits in disgust.

“I am.”

“Then why are you still treating lifeless things like they’re more valuable than the people who love you?” His heir demands and Thorin flinches, unable to help it.

“You cannot see why I am doing this because you are barely older than a child.” Thorin cuts, his emotions getting the better of him. “You have no idea about the ways of the world and are barely any wiser than when we left the Blue Mountains. I will not throw our home away or endanger our people because of my own feelings. One day, Fíli, you will be king, and you will need to understand what it takes. Until then I despair of you. Now get out.”

“You’re lashing out.” Fíli backs away. “I know you, Uncle, and you’re hurt so you’re lashing out. You’re in love with Bilbo, everyone saw it. And now that he’s gone you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake, so you’re upset.”

“Get out, Fíli.”

“If you asked him to return I’m sure he would.”

“ _Out_!” Thorin roars. “I am your uncle, but more than that I am your king, and you shall not speak to me with such- such disrespect.”

“I will give you respect,” Fíli replies damningly. “When you deserve it.”

Silence falls like a blanket as they stand there staring at one another.

“Leave now,” Thorin threatens, unwilling to show just how hurt he is at the promise. “And never mention Bilbo Baggins in my presence again. Nor shall the others. Let them know, warn them well, if anybody so much as makes a passing reference to him, they may find themselves on their way to the Shire themselves. He is gone and not coming back, and we shall behave as such. He is nothing to us, not anymore.”

Fíli looks at him in horror but Thorin’s words do their job and he leaves quickly, slamming the door closed behind him.

Thorin takes one last look at the papers on his desk before turning away in disgust. He moves to the other door in his office, the one leading to his private chambers. He bars the door to his bedroom and blows out the candles and torches, leaving only the fireplace burning before he strips off his clothes and creeps beneath the sheets of his bed, staring in the dark at the side that had used to be Bilbo’s.

And then Thorin, son of Thráin son of Thrór, begins to cry, before falling into a horrible and miserable sleep, ignoring everyone, servant or friend, who comes to knock on his door that evening and refusing to leave his chambers until dawn the next day.

* * *

Things move forward, as they must.

Thorin rules Erebor with an iron fist, learning everything that goes on in the mountain. He’s memorized the sketches of the mining tunnels, knows which ones are weak and which hold the most promise of gems and riches. Thorin reinforces the passageways and holds weekly council meetings. He hears petitioners at least twice a week and settles disputes and corresponds with Thranduil and meets with Bard when needed.

Ravens come bearing letters of congratulations from distant parties. He receives one from Lord Elrond and another from the Lady Galadriel and wonders just what his life is becoming.

The members of the Company who weren’t lords before are given ranks and titles now, along with vast wealth. None of them take their full fourteenth share, most don’t even take half, but it is still enough to last them and any of their children for generations to come.

Erebor’s defenses are rebuilt, stronger than ever with recent innovations. Dwarves from other kingdoms begin to show up as emissaries. Dáin helps Thorin schedule his days and prioritize what must be done. He must admit he’s happy to have the help of his cousin from the Iron Hills.

Throughout it all, Thorin hears no mention of Bilbo and he’s grateful.

It’s bad enough having to walk around with the cold and empty feeling in his chest. It lingers day and night. Sometimes it spreads, and others he can almost forget about it, but it is there always, influencing his every decision, trailing his every thought.

He knows Fíli is still mad at him and Kíli picks up on it too. The dark-haired brother will shoot Thorin looks when he doesn’t think the king can see.

Thorin always sees.

Dwalin has tried to ask and then argue with him about it, but Thorin had sent him away, and after weeks of silence between the two of them, the warrior seems to have learned his lesson. The others look at him with judgement in their eyes, but none are brave enough to challenge him or his orders. Bofur hasn’t spoken to him since Bilbo left, which Thorin knows he deserves.

They know that the excuse Bilbo has given for leaving is false. Fíli has not kept that a secret from their friends. They also know that no matter what Bilbo may have promised them all, he has no plans to return. And whereas during the quest the Company would have questioned him and challenged Thorin to his face, now their tongues seem to quell.

Perhaps the closeness had only come from Bilbo’s presence, Thorin wonders to himself late at night. The Hobbit had managed to squirrel his way into their affections, and there were so many things about him that made people comfortable and feel encouraged to open up. Perhaps the comradery that had developed between Thorin and the members of the Company who weren’t his kin or lifelong friends had only managed to grow because of Bilbo’s effect on Thorin.

He always ends up pushing those thoughts away. What did it matter now if that was true?

But out of all of the Company, Balin’s subtle glances and hints are the worst. They are cruel and hurt him right where he’s vulnerable, and Thorin knows he’s earned those as well, but he can’t help but think this is harder than he ever expected.

He thought since he had lived so long alone he could fall back into his old habits with barely a problem. That this pain would be manageable. Before, it had been easy to ignore the fact that he was lonely. He’d always had things to do and that is still true, now more than ever.

So why can’t he go even an hour without thinking about Bilbo and wishing he was there?

He tries not to think about it but that only makes everything worse.

In short, since Bilbo had ridden away a month ago, Thorin is miserable. Not only that, but he has slipped back into his familiar defense of distancing himself from everyone around him. He is cool towards those he loves, even the boys. It’s not something he means to do, pulling away from everybody, but it is easier than being in their company and having to force himself to laugh and smile when he feels like doing the opposite.

By the end of that first month he thinks that he’s handled everything regarding Bilbo. The Halfling’s things are gone, he is gone and Thorin has forbidden any mention of him. There is nothing left to remind him that Bilbo used to live there apart from his own memories.

Until there is.

It’s a day like any other when the soil arrives. Large carts loaded with bags of it pulled by Men of Bard’s show up at the gate to the Lonely Mountain and are brought in one afternoon. Thorin is in his office when Balin shows up at his door. Thorin barely looks up to see who it is.

“Yes?”

The old Dwarf slips inside, closing it again behind him. Dwalin stands outside of it, silent as ever.

“What is it, Balin?”

To say things have been strained between him and all those he’s closest to lately would be an understatement. He may not hear whispers of Bilbo, but the murmurs Thorin hears of himself growing cold and closed off, harsh and strict, have not escaped his attention.

Truthfully, he can hardly be bothered to care.

“The soil has arrived, Your Majesty.”

“Soil?” Thorin frowns, finally looking up in question. “What-oh.”

Bilbo. The orchard.

Bilbo.

He looks at Balin wordlessly, thinking quickly. Ignoring the way his heart clenches and his grip on his quill tightens. Somehow he misses the look of pity on Balin’s face.

“Bring me to it.” He orders and rises to swiftly follow Balin through Erebor’s halls and down into the market center where the numerous carts have stopped.

All around them other Dwarves swarm, pausing to take in the sight. It’s rare that Thorin comes down here where the public can catch sight of him. In fact, he’s only been down once, the day the market had reopened after they’d come back.

Now the Dwarves stare. They whisper and point to the Humans who are tiredly leaning against the soil carts and gratefully accepting drinks of mead from Dwarf vendors.

The smells of baked goods and poured drinks fill the air, along with that of animals, flowers, spices and more. Thorin sees Dwarves selling clothing, selling apothecary potions or jewelry or more. Some have stalls and some only have their wares spread out on table. People walk around opening their coats to display their wares to others passing by and children run around underfoot. Men and Dwarf alike wander and take in everything to offer. Laughter carries over the crowds and somewhere nearby a Dwarf is singing while another plays the flute.

This market is no where near the size of the one Thorin remembers from his childhood, but he can see the beginnings of it here. Once Dís and her caravan arrive it should grow exponentially.

Who knows, he thinks wryly as he comes to a stop in front of the Men leading the ox-pulled carts, maybe one day Elves will set up stalls here too. Anything was possible these days.

For a second he wonders if a Hobbit or two might stop to trade as well on their way to or from somewhere else and then resolutely pushes the thought away. If he has learned anything it is that Hobbits were never eager to leave their homes. Bilbo had been an exception to the rule.

He can’t help but halt in his steps at the sight of the carts, distantly noting Dwalin stumble at the abrupt stop. Dwalin who is usually so good at guarding his back and moving soundlessly, like an extension of Thorin’s own self.

Thorin’s breath catches as he sees the mountains of soil bags sitting innocently in the wooden carts. He blinks, taking in the sight and wonders dumbly what in Mahal’s name he is going to do with it all.

He’d chosen and sketched out the orchard space before Bilbo had left. Picking the spot had been simple, there weren’t many places on the outside of Erebor that would do. Designing and then planting the orchard had been less so.

But then one day, when Thorin was tucked away in his office, bored out of his skull while he was meant to be looking at an armour and weapon reports, he’d been struck with inspiration. Grabbing the nearest piece of blank paper (the back of a report from Balin’s scribes, not the most crucial of things) he’d quickly traced out some blueprints. A square plot of land with trees dotting it and the occasional flower bed. He’d thrown in a few benches and wondered idly whether Bilbo would like a fountain or pond of some sort. He’d left a space for one, just in case.

Not even a week after that Hugin had come to him with his report and all thoughts of courting gifts and orchards had fled Thorin to be replaced with the now familiar dull ache of loss.

Distantly he realizes that he’s standing and staring at the soil stupidly, but he can’t help it. Fantasies of Bilbo coming back and helping Thorin create his vision are playing out in his mind’s eyes so strongly he can barely breathe. Or Bilbo returning after Thorin has finished it himself, the Hobbit taking one look around and realizing that Thorin had lied, that he had loved Bilbo all along. He can practically see the trees standing tall with blossoming flowers and fruit hanging from their branches. It could be a place for Thorin to go and relax once in a while. Somewhere he could escape the rest of the mountain, just for a few minutes at a time.

What if Bilbo did ever come back, just to visit? It would be nice for him to have an orchard here, wouldn’t it? He would be happy to know that just because he had left it didn’t mean everything Thorin has learned from him had gone too.

He would make sure it was beautiful. In fact, he would work on it himself. The entire thing had been intended as a courting gift, and no matter what, suddenly Thorin is determined to finish what he’d started.

“Your Majesty?”

He blinks and focuses on the Men standing in front of him. Balin has moved to stand next to him and elbows him in the side, making Thorin grunt.

“Thorin, they’ve just bowed and greeted you.” The elder Dwarf grunts, smiling all the while at the young Men.

“Yes, hello. Well met.” Thorin forces his own lips into movement and speaks to the Men as Balin steps away. “Thank you for delivering this to us.” He hesitates only a moment before making up his mind. “If you would follow me?”

Without another word and without looking at anybody else he turns around and makes his way through the crowds once more. He hears Balin say something behind him and the Men scrambling to grab the leads on their respective oxen and pull the carts forward, listening as the wheels creak before rumbling smoothly over the stone.

It takes a few minutes of quick thinking for him to choose the best route but luckily Erebor’s passageways are wide. Thorin leads the convoy up to a wide door which he opens. Dwalin stops to wait on the grassy ledge beside him and they both hear the calls of the Men to one another from a short distance behind.

“Thorin.”

He glances over at Dwalin, seeing the way his friend’s mouth twists. The two of them had always been close, since they were lads, but lately, as with the others, Thorin has felt a distance between them.

He knows he’s been reclusive and harsh lately. Shutting himself away or immersing himself in work has been easier than the alternative, and after a few weeks the others had left him to it, giving up on trying to speak with him.

He can’t remember the last time he spoke to Dwalin that wasn’t giving him an order.

“Yes?”

Dwalin seems to hesitate. “What is this soil for?”

Ah. Well at least he knows Balin has been keeping his secrets. If Dwalin doesn’t know then nobody did.

“I thought I would put in an orchard.” Thorin says and he can’t meet Dwalin’s eyes.

“An orchard?”

“Yes.”

Dwalin takes that in and Thorin feels the weight of his stare, can practically follow his train of thought as he puts it all together and comes up with the right explanation.

“But…” Thorin looks over at him sharply and Dwalin changes tack. He still looks unhappy but now his lips are pursed in confusion as well. “Why? It will never grow here. Never last. Not in Erebor.”

And Thorin looks away, watching as the first Man comes out with his cart, followed closely by the others.

“We shall see.” Is all he says, and Dwalin does not speak again.

* * *

The bags are left there, on the side of the mountain. Thorin has wisely chosen a relatively flat expanse of land, ending in a gradual slope downwards. It is all covered in grass and he chooses to think of it as a good sign. An omen that things will grow here, if only they are given enough care and attention.

It takes a long time for him to set out the markers for the boundaries and he wonders whether he should make some walls when it is all done. He ponders it as he sneaks away time here and there, coming out with nothing more than a shovel and digging up the entire square. It’s not a large orchard, in fact it will probably hold no more than 15 trees fully grown but that doesn’t matter to Thorin. It is enough for him and it will have to be enough for Bilbo. Would have been enough for Bilbo.

He chases his thoughts away and digs, overturning the grass and breaking up the clods. There are weeds here and there that he takes and throws away over the side. Thorin is no expert, not yet, but he knows that if he leaves them their seeds will somehow spread and that is the last thing he wants.

He’s been out for nearly an hour one day before he hears the footsteps and hurriedly wipes his forehead of sweat as he sticks his shovel in the dirt and leans on it slightly as he looks up to see Kíli.

His heart hurts at the sight of his nephew. Thorin has never been resentful of Kíli since Bilbo’s absence, but he will admit, only to himself, that he is horribly, heart-wrenchingly jealous.

Kíli looks better than Thorin has ever known him. His face still freezes in twinges of pain when he turns too far one way, or jostles his newly mended arm (both things that Thorin sympathizes with), but there are no other signs of his horrible wound from the battle. Instead there is a confidence in his walk that Thorin can’t remember from before their quest and the look in his eyes, the softness in his expression, both are things Thorin used to recognize in himself whenever he caught a glimpse of his reflection before he sent Bilbo away.

But he has nobody but himself to blame for his own unhappiness.

He watches Kíli carefully come closer until his nephew is only a few feet away and looking around with something the king can’t quite read shining in his eyes. “Fíli says you’re going to grow an orchard.”

Thorin’s lips twitch downward at his nephew’s lack of tact but he nods anyway. “I am.”

The younger Dwarf cocks his head and looks confused. “By yourself? You know there are people who would help. Or do it for you.”

“There is too much to be done in Erebor before your mother arrives with the others. They will focus on that.” Thorin says and wipes away fresh sweat. “This is something I will do myself.”

“Uncle… this will take ages.” Kíli looks around again, noting the bags of soil laid around the edges of the turned-up square. “And you know nothing about gardening.”

Thorin’s grip on the shovel’s handle tightens. “I might know more than you think. And there are many people I can ask.”

“Like who? Bilbo?”

Thorin freezes, hearing the challenge in Kíli’s tone. Slowly he looks back up to meet his dark eyes, noting the hint of uncertainty beneath the veneer of courage.

It’s been a month and two weeks, and this is the first time he’s heard Bilbo’s name outside of his thoughts since the day the Hobbit left. Since he argued with Fíli.

“Perhaps I will ask Tauriel,” Thorin ignores Kíli’s question. “She is an Elf, after all.”

Kíli’s expression morphs into one of surprise. “Oh. Um, I don’t know if she would be able to help much.” Thorin raises an eyebrow. “She’s more interested in the nature of the stars than the earth.”

He looks up at the sky reflexively, noting the sun that is almost setting. For the first time all day he realizes just how tired he is. He was up early to begin turning up the grass this morning and he’s only just managed to carve out time to finish doing it tonight.

Thorin is tired but he’s more at peace than he has been in a while as well. He can think of Bilbo here and not worry about being caught at it. It’s easy for his mind to wander as he plots out where flower boxes will go and where trees will be planted. The occasional messenger might show up to stop him for a few minutes, but they are quickly dealt with before Thorin can get back out to work.

It’s different, doing this, rather than the work of a king. This is a task he’s choosing to do, something he needs more than wants. Every time he lifts the shovel he knows it’s something he does for Bilbo. Every fresh patch of soil turned, every square marked out for a certain tree or decoration, he knows he’s making progress.

This isn’t penance, he’d told Balin, though he’s not sure how truthful that is. It’s just something he has to do.

Sometimes he even finds himself enjoying it.

“No matter.” Thorin says finally to his nephew. “Dwarves have farmed, though it was never for anything other than necessity. And our new allies can always pass along information.”

“Right.” Kíli sounds hesitant. “So you’re really doing this then?”

“What, did you think I was spending time out here as a joke?”

“No, I just-” Kíli goes a bit red. “I don’t understand why.”

Thorin looks around again and this time when he speaks his voice is a bit softer. “Because I need to.”

And that is that.

* * *

The months pass. Spring gives way to summer and Thorin wouldn’t be keeping track if it wasn’t for the changes he sees in the orchard.

Some days he only manages to make it out there to work for a half hour, or even a few minutes just to look around and see how everything is doing, but there’s something about being able to see the changes happening.

The progress is gradual, because he is the only one he allows out to work on it, but he looks around at the fledgling trees that arrived months ago and imagines he can picture their roots growing slowly beneath the surface. Grass has regrown around the thin trunks and the two wooden boxes filled with dirt that Thorin has weeded mercilessly. He’s planted flowers that have grown and bloomed all shades of colours. Perennials, he’s been told by both Tauriel and Ori, which are less maintenance and will regrow every year.

The trees have thin twig-like branches that grow leaves, and some even have blossoms. He’s been told that if any grow fruit this first year it would be a miracle but he’s hopeful for next year. They had all had leaves when they arrived and now that they are truly planted he does not see why they can’t flourish.

And in the center of the entire square Thorin has left a space, empty and desolate, waiting for something to fill it.

These days he spends less time working than just sitting and relaxing. His current project is a few benches to place in the spaces between various trees or beside the flower beds. The wooden marker posts are still standing around the entire square and Thorin also has the idea of making paths through the trees, imagining what it might look like in many years once they’ve grown taller than Gandalf and their branches were so bushy one could barely see the sun through them.

It would take time, but that was something Thorin has plenty of now.

These days he has more than ever. Now that trading is in full force due to the end of winter, he has less correspondence with Thranduil. Erebor is well started in its reconstruction and Dís and her caravan are meant to arrive any day now. Dale’s rebuilding is long underway and the Men have left Erebor to set up permanent residence in their own city, ploughing and planting the land around it and setting up businesses, markets and trading of their own.

The land around the Mountain is lived in again, and while a king’s work is never finished, Thorin can safely say there are much less demands on him now than there had been three months ago.

More than that, enough time seems to have passed that almost all of the other Dwarves of the Company are speaking to him again. The only exception is Bofur and Thorin would be lying if he said he doesn’t understand the toymaker’s reticence or that he could not respect it.

Not that Thorin had lightened up much since Bilbo left, but it seems like the others have accepted his return to his old gruff demeanor. He is reminded of the first month of their journey where he had snapped at anybody at the slightest provocation. He had caught more than one glare or twist of a mouth than his Company knew. 

But now they are still determined to talk to him, whether he responds well or not. He can not say where their determination comes from. Perhaps, because they have seen that he could be happy and at peace, as evidenced after the battle, and they were working to make him that way once more. Maybe it is just something that comes from journeying so far together and growing so familiar. Whatever the reason, his Company seems determined not to let him wallow in his misery alone every minute of each day.

Bombur threatens to force-feed him food when he goes too long without eating, Kíli and Fíli nattered on about this or that, and sometimes Tauriel joins them. Bifur updates him on the miners and helps him work out some of the bench designs. Dwalin spars with Thorin whenever he asks and is steady company standing guard as Thorin works away in silence. Though his relationship with his closest friend is still strained and the unspoken truths between them weigh heavily at times, most days Thorin can ignore it.

Ori is always there with any information Thorin might need from the library, as he hasn’t stepped foot in it in months, for reasons that will remain private to only himself. Nori has started to come around more and more often as well, though Thorin suspects that has more to do with Dwalin than him. More than once his guard has chased the middle ‘Ri brother away yelling about stolen belongings.

(It does not seem to matter than Nori has never stolen from Thorin in all their years of knowing one another.)

Dori is the first one Thorin goes to for clothing as his sewing skills are renowned throughout Erebor. He is also great for sparring on the rare occasion Thorin feels like being tested from the other Dwarf’s unbeatable strength.

Óin is the royal family’s personal healer. He had given the three members of Durin’s line a final clean bill of health just last week though Fíli is still meant to take it extremely easy. His fair hair has grown back quickly, and though it is still shorter than the rest, a braid disguised that effectively enough.

Glóin is always around somewhere counting coin and hasn’t stopped talking about the arrival of Dís’ caravan, eager to see his son, Gimli, and wife, Mimi, again. He is easy to be around, as all Thorin has to do is sit and nod every few sentences to show he was listening. The limited responses suit them both just fine.

Then there is Balin. Always Balin, by his side in meetings and counseling him through any decision Thorin might hesitate over. Throughout it all he has that look in his eye, the one Thorin knows means that every time Balin looks at him he thinks of Bilbo.

Thorin us no better really. Every time he sees Balin he thinks of the Hobbit too.

Balin’s eyes haven’t been pitying for a while now however, only sad. Disappointed. He thought Thorin had made the wrong choice and the king is terrified to admit it but he is scared he has too.

It isn’t an easy thing to ignore the breaking of his own heart, but Thorin is doing his best.

He only ever allows his control to slip in private. Things only manage to get too close to the surface when he is where others can never see. At night he goes to the orchard and it is there he’ll grow overwhelmed and allow himself to show anything at all, sometimes too much. He is always so careful to make sure the others don’t see how much he hurts for Bilbo, lest it would confuse them all more and muddle up whatever story Balin has fed them.

Over two months after Bilbo had left Thorin had finally received the trees he’d ordered and planted them. The flower beds have been made and filled with rows of different types of flowers. Grass regrew and spread over every available surface around the boxes and thin tree trunks. Many months have gone by before Thorin finally finishes his work in the orchard, at least for now.

It looks beautiful.

And in the center of it all there is the empty space.

Thorin knows what he wants grown there. From the very beginning when he’d had the idea and drawn up his plans, he had known exactly what he wanted in the center. Though it might not work out exactly as he’d planned before Bilbo had left, there was no reason Thorin still can’t follow his original plan as closely as possible.

So he’d sent the raven with the note attached the day after the soil had arrived. And now he is waiting. Waiting in his garden quietly, looking down the short distance to the bottom of the mountain across to where Dale sits and listening to the waterfall nearby.

He is weary. Today has been a bad day.

Not only has Fíli gotten upset and refused to come to the council meeting with him, Balin had quietly pulled Thorin aside and told him that Gandalf and Bilbo have reached Rivendell. When Thorin had asked him how he knew, his old friend had sheepishly admitted to sending a raven to the Hobbit asking after him.

“Each of the Company wrote a sentence or two wishing him well.” Balin said, and though he’d been nervous there was also that determined glint in his eye that usually made Thorin smile but had only then made him grit his teeth and ignore the well of hurt that opened up at Balin’s words.

He had not even been asked. And even though he knows why, even though he was well aware that many of the Dwarves had been sending Bilbo letters or intended to once the Hobbit arrived home, it pierced him in a way he couldn’t describe to know they were still in contact with Bilbo when Thorin would never again be.

It was also uncharacteristically cruel of Balin to bring him up, seemingly for no purpose at all.

Thorin hadn’t said anything in reply, only schooled his expression and nodded before walking away to the council room. His eyes had landed on Hugin and he’d grit his teeth and turned his head for no reason other than Thorin being unable to look at him. The sight of the other Dwarf makes him simultaneously feel sick and like he was about to throw something.

The news had made him snappish for the rest of the day. Even Kíli had stopped trying to draw him out and instead shot him wounded looks from where he sat in place of Fíli during the council meeting.

The argument with Fíli that had come after the meeting had been over something so inconsequential Thorin could not remember what started it. He had gone to his nephew’s chambers intending to check in on him. But, as always lately, their conversation had devolved into his heir pressing him on why he had been so upset.

“You should never have sent Bilbo away!” Fíli had yelled, making Thorin freeze. “You’ve been miserable since he’s left.”

Thorin had grown to have a better grip on his temper since his Dragon sickness but that had been too much, and he had yelled so loudly Kíli had looked in on them in concern. Fíli had stormed out and Thorin had gotten mad at Kíli for lingering, snapping at him to leave.

This combined with the fact that Bilbo is well on his way home and staying with Elves, for Mahal’s sake, and reports of Dís’ caravan being slowed down coming through Mirkwood, despite the guidance of Thranduil’s people, has set Thorin in his foul mood. On top of that, Bofur had finally deigned to speak to him only once Thorin had stormed into the brothers’ quarters and demanded an audience, and he had only said enough to make it explicitly clear just where Thorin could shove his royal crown.

“How you could let him leave I’ll never know.” Bofur had said, never mentioning Bilbo by name but leaving Thorin in no doubt as to who he could have been talking about. “He never would have gone if you hadn’t said something, I’m sure of it. He had no intention of leaving. And until you explain enough to make me understand or fix it, I’ll be having nothing to do with you, Your Majesty.”

“Well if that is how you really feel.” Thorin had said coldly. He’d been hurt at the sneered title and done his best to let the words go right through him lest they drag him to the floor. After drawing himself up to his full height he’d watched Bofur take a shaky breath, regret clear in his voice as the other Dwarf had replied.

“It is.”

“Then we have nothing else to discuss. Good day, Master Bofur.”

Thorin had stormed out, ignoring Dwalin’s disapproving look and lashing out at anybody stupid enough to come within five feet of him for the remainder of the day. By nightfall everyone seemed to have gotten the message. He suspected Dwalin was warning people off at the door.

It didn’t make a difference. Thorin doesn’t care. Why should he bother pretending to be anything but miserable? What is the point in trying to forget Bilbo is gone when everywhere he goes and everybody he sees reminds him of just that?

He can’t. It is too hard.

So he does what he had begun to do whenever he needed an escape. He goes to their orchard.

Thorin has refused to allow anybody else out to see it, though sometimes Dwalin is selective about who counts as anybody. Kíli has come in more than once, as has Dain. Fíli has too at some point, Thorin knows, though he hadn’t been there at the time.

Every time Thorin has sent them away. This place is not theirs.

Balin tends to wait outside at the door with his brother for which Thorin is thankful.

Every inch of the square is a result of Thorin’s own work. He has worked the soil and planted everything. The flowers beds were made with his own hands as were the metal benches he is now starting to build. He is sitting on one now, as he looks out over Dale.

This place is his alone now. Thorin isn’t foolish enough to hope that it won’t always be the case. He is done with lying to himself and as he thinks it, he turns away from Dale to walk to the center of the square.

_He never would have gone if you hadn’t said something._

Thorin stares down at the flat spot of land in the middle of the grass and heaves a deep breath.

_He had no intention of leaving._

When he blinks the king is surprised to find there aren’t tears in his eyes. Crazily he wonders if he has any tears left, or if by now he’s used them all up. Is he completely empty with no hope of ever feeling anything except this constant ache ever again?

Truthfully he would welcome any feeling but this heartache.

He’s come out here to calm down and recollect his thoughts after a trying day, so it shocks and annoys him when he feels somebody come and stand beside him.

He looks up at Tauriel and resists the urge to snap at her. It’s hard and he doesn’t quite manage to keep the venom from his tone as he snarls, “what are you doing here?”

“Your Majesty.” She bows slightly. The stars and moonlight are bright enough he can see just how pale she is, can see the contrast between her red hair and white skin. “I asked Dwalin if I could see you.”

Shock fills him. He doesn’t know another Dwarf who mistrusts Elves more than Dwalin, not even himself. And though Tauriel has slowly become more familiar to the Company, Thorin can count on one hand the number of conversations they’ve had.

He can count it on three fingers actually.

“You’re not meant to be here.” Thorin says shortly turning away and looking back at the empty grass. “Get out. I will send for you in the morning.”

A second passes and then two. Thorin won’t admit his heart is racing.

He has no sword with him, no weapons or way of defending himself. And he already feels stripped barer than he is comfortable with. The last thing he wants is for an Elf to see that, whether that Elf is Tauriel or not.

“With your forgiveness, sire, I will not wait.”

He grits his teeth. “Your impudence does not endear you to me.”

“I would never expect it to.” At least she sounds bashful and Thorin resists the urge to gape as she sits down on the grass beside him, crossing her legs and looking up at the sky. Her coat is green and edged in gold thread and her trousers are a dark brown. She’s wearing hunting boots.

He watches as her eyes track the stars and when she looks back over at him he thinks he can see captured constellations reflected in them.

“I am here to ask you to bridge the gap between yourself and Kíli.”

This time Thorin can’t help himself. His brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

“The distance between the two of you is upsetting him.” Tauriel says quietly. “And therefore upsetting me. I hate to see him so and I would ask- no, I would beg of you, please, for his sake, fix it.”

Thorin’s anger rushes in full force. “You forget your place, Elf.”

“No.”

Tauriel moves quickly to kneel in front of him, bowing her head and clasping her hands in a pose of supplication. Neither of them mentions how Thorin flinches at her sudden movement and goes to grab for a blade that is not there.

“Please, Your Majesty. I cannot bear his sadness, truly I cannot. In thanks for the return of his happiness I would give you anything. I would- I will leave Erebor, forever.”

That stops Thorin’s fury in its tracks. “You would what?”

“I will go.” Tauriel still doesn’t look at him. “Me being here has caused these problems. Kíli won’t admit it, but I see how you have distanced yourself from him since he told you of our relationship. Other Dwarves outside of the Company look down on him. He is being whispered about and mocked and I would not mind all of that since he does not, but the animosity between the two of you… he is hurting because of it. I will do anything to make that stop.”

“You would leave.” Thorin repeats dully, staring down at her and wondering what on Middle Earth he did in a previous life to deserve this torture.

He can picture it now. Telling Tauriel to go, watching Kíli’s heart break. It hurts him to imagine but he can’t help but extend the daydream to include writing to Bilbo, explaining everything and having the Hobbit come back to him as soon as Tauriel was gone.

“If it would make Kíli ’s life easier then yes, without hesitation. I will go.”

Thorin can’t help it.

He scoffs and turns away from her. “You are foolish.”

He hears Tauriel’s uncertainty as she asks, “…sire?”

“You think you leaving will help Kíli?” Thorin turns on his foot to stare her down, the distance and her kneeling giving him the illusion of height. “It would destroy him, don’t you see? You are his One, being apart from you could only hurt him further. Dwarves do not survive well without their other halves.”

In all of Thorin’s knowledge such a separation had not voluntarily been done before. Dwarves did not let their Ones go for anything less than death, and if that was the case, it was often that the one left living followed soon after. He had never heard a case of a pair living apart.

Not until him.

“But…” She clears her throat and stands up swiftly, graceful even in her confusion. “You would have me stay?”

“I gave you permission to live here, did I not? My blessing for him to court you? I have done all I can to allow you two to be together and now you come and tell me you would throw it all away?”

“No!” She gasps, hurrying two steps forward, horror on her face. “No, never. I only thought…” She trails off meeting Thorin’s eyes and frowning. “I thought I was what had caused problems between the two of you. I hoped if I left you would no longer be so harsh with him, as you have been these last months.”

Thorin swallows and looks away again, frustrated at the shame her words fill him with. “That has nothing to do with you.”

Tauriel cocks her head slightly, like a bird listening. He does not understand why, for there is no sound on the mountainside except for the two of them, the rushing water and the wind.

“Forgive me, sire, but ever since you gave your permission for Kíli and I to court you have been different. I could not help but think I was the cause. That having me here and being with Kíli made you uncomfortable.”

“No.” He says shortly before taking a deep breath and releasing it, turning away from her again. “No, you are mistaken. My attitude as of late is not your fault.” He glares at nothing in particular, looking down the mountain back towards the distant lights of Dale. “But even if it was, you leaving Kíli could never be the solution. He is in love with you.”

Tauriel was quiet for a long time. “It is selfish of me, but I am glad to hear it. I don’t know what I would do if he was not with me.”

Thorin’s laugh is bitter. “One day you will find out. Is that not enough to scare you off?”

A painful silence follows his words and he glances over to see her stricken face.

She presses her lips together thinly and Thorin watches her closely, trying to see beneath the façade of Elves to the emotions that hid beneath.

He has always hated them for their emotionless ways. Some said they felt more deeply than any other race but Thorin cannot believe it. They are so slow to rouse to any display, it is hard to remember they were real living beings beneath the graceful movements and cold beauty.

“I do my best not to think of it.” Her voice trembles and he blinks in shock. “But as long as you allow me to stay, and as long as it makes him happy, the last thing I would do is leave him. When his end comes,” she falters, taking a deep breath and Thorin almost thinks he sees her throat work. “I will not likely last much longer.”

At his look she bites her lip quickly before clarifying.

“Elves can fade once our loved one dies. We lose our will to live, faced with the promise of spending the rest of eternity alone. I have seen it happen.”

Thorin doesn’t know what to say. To admit he is surprised would be an understatement. Eventually he settles on saying only. “That was cruel. I’m sorry.”

She nods, accepting the apology and steps back swiftly, head ducking. He wonders if she was as embarrassed as he. “I have said all I wished to. I shall leave you now, my lord.”

Something almost like guilt flicks through Thorin, like a bug in the air. “I am sorry, that was unkind of me. As you have noted I am not… I have been unlike myself as of late.”

Tauriel’s eyes search him and he hates the way she seems to read him like an open book. Does it come with knowledge from millennia of life, he wonders, or is she just that used to him now?

No matter what it is, he dislikes it.

“I had thought my presence here was the problem.” She says softly, moving back towards him. He watches warily. “But it’s something else, isn’t it?”

He might be willing to apologize but he is anything but willing to tell her about Bilbo. “That is of no concern to you.”

“No.” She agrees. “Your pain is yours. But if you would hear my advice?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Her smile is patient and amused. The heaviness from the moment before lingers, making her words hold more weight than they would otherwise. “I have learned that a hurt shared is easier to bear than suffering alone. There are many who love you that would help shoulder the burden.”

Thorin’s hands clench. He will never admit it but he is disappointed that her wisdom won’t be of any use to him. “This is not something I can share. I have done this to myself and only I can bear it.”

Her expression is sympathetic for only a moment before she wipes her face blank. “Of course, my lord.”

Thorin hesitates before sighing. “You may as well call me Thorin.”

She blinks and he knows he’s surprised her. It garners another grudging sigh from him. “We are to be family, after all.”

“I- yes, of course.” Her head bows and he sees her attention caught on the flower boxes. It’s easy to track her gaze as it flits from one box to the other and then at each of the trees surrounding them.

When she speaks again her voice is soft. “This is a beautiful garden.”

The compliment should make him happy but Thorin barely feels anything at all at her praise. “Thank you. It is a gift.”

She blinks again. “Kíli told me you were building it all yourself.”

“Yes.” He confirms and at her expectant silence he gives in. “The gift is not for me.”

“Oh.” She looks around again, seeming as uncomfortable as he, until she softens fractionally. She can’t seem to help it as her eyes take in the flowering petals of every colour, the different types of fruit trees. “It’s lovely. They are lucky, this person, to receive something so special. It’s a beautiful escape from the mountain.”

It hurts to hear and Thorin turns away to look around himself, hiding the pain written in his features. “Was that all, Tauriel?”

He hears her take a step towards him this time, despite not facing her. But then she stops and he’s glad when instead of coming further all she says is, “if you will set things right with Kíli once more, my lord, then yes. That is all.”

And Thorin sighs. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

Again she hesitates, and a second goes by before he hears her turn around and leave. Now that he is listening he can hear the faintest sound of her footsteps on the grass, so slight he could easily be convinced they are products of his tired imagination.

Still he doesn’t go back inside, despite the late hour, and it must be quite some time later that he hears footfalls again.

“Surely whatever else it is can wait until morning?” He says, still looking out at the flickering shadows of Dale in the night.

“Uncle.”

Fíli’s voice makes him whirl around in surprise and seeing Kíli standing beside him makes his gut tighten in trepidation.

“What is it?” Thorin demands, his surprise making him jump to conclusions. “Are you both alright? Is it your mother?”

“Wh- no, nothing like that.” Kíli says, standing stiffly. “Everything is fine. Everyone is okay.”

Thorin looks between the two of them, questioning. “Then what are you both doing here at so late an hour?”

Kíli ducks his head while Fíli crosses his arms and stares at him, unimpressed. “Tauriel said you needed to speak to us both.”

Thorin’s teeth grind together. Forget what he’d said earlier, that Elf could leave first thing in the morning. “Did she?”

“Yes.” Kíli meets his eyes. “She told us to ask whether you were alright.”

And it’s that, for some reason, that makes Thorin crack.

He turns away furiously. “I’m fine.”

“Uncle-”

“I’M FINE!”

It echoes off the side of the mountain and Kíli draws back, pulling his arm away in shock. Fíli takes a step away as well and the three of them stand in horrible awkward silence as Thorin breathes heavily and tries to find some way to crawl out of this situation.

“You’re not.” Fíli sounds soft towards him for the first time in months and Thorin sees concern writ across every bit of his expression. “You’re not fine. We’re worried about you.”

Thorin closes his eyes and rubs them tiredly. “Don’t. Please. It is I who should worry for you both, not the other way around.”

“We aren’t Dwarflings any longer Thorin.” Fíli says sounding exasperated. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay or try and protect us. Whatever it is we can help you.”

“Oh _mizimith_.” Thorin says softly. “I will always try and protect you both. And if that includes sheltering you from my own foolishness it is something I will gladly do.”

“Thorin, please.”

Kíli is pleading and Thorin looks between the two brothers, so alike in appearance. He remembers Tauriel’s words, her pleas to him to bridge the new distance between them, and Thorin feels that new space keenly as the three of them stand there.

“This burden is mine alone.” Thorin says finally and there is sorrow etched into every letter he speaks. “I am sorry I have taken my pain out on you all. It was cruel of me to do so.”

“What pain?” Kíli prods, eyes searching. “What is it that hurts you so? The loss of the Arkenstone?”

“Or something else?” Fíli’s eyes are too knowing and Thorin meets them, wondering how pathetic he must look. “Erebor has never needed a garden before and yet you made it one with your bare hands. You spend any time you can up here hiding away from us all. Nobody else is allowed in unless we beg Dwalin and say it’s an emergency. What is this all for, Uncle?”

Thorin doesn’t say anything.

“Or should I say who?”

A few of Dale’s lights go out and Thorin puts his face in his hands, taking a deep breath before letting them fall away. “You are being unkind, Fíli, though you do not realize it.”

“Don’t I?” His nephew challenges and Kíli looks between them warily. “Uncle if you love Bilbo then why in Mahal’s name would you tell him to go?”

Kíli gasps. “ _You_ told him to leave? But he said to all of us that it was his choice.”

Thorin looks at him sharply. “When did he tell you that?”

“He said it to everybody. The whole Company.” Fíli frowns at him. “I thought you’d instructed him to.”

“I- No.” Thorin shakes his head. “No, I didn’t know what he told you.”

“He gathered us all together.” Kíli explains. “A week or so before he left. And he told us he missed the Shire, that there was nothing left for him here.” They both see Thorin look away. “He said he didn’t belong in Erebor and that he didn’t want to intrude on us all any longer.”

“I thought you made him say it,” Fíli is speaking before Kíli finishes. “I didn’t- why would he do all of that if you didn’t tell him to?”

“Why would Uncle want him to?” Kíli asks as if the mere idea is unfathomable. “Uncle, why would you tell him to go? You love him, you said so!”

“I wish you would both leave it.” Thorin says quietly, his resolve holding only by the barest thread of his willpower. “I cannot tell you why things had to be this way, just know that I had no other choice.”

“But-”

“Did you ever think that perhaps I was wrong?” It explodes out of him and hurts Thorin’s heart to say it, but then again this entire conversation, these whole past few months, have been tearing him apart already. “That I rushed into something before thinking it through? There are obstacles to these things, though you two have lived in ignorance of them your entire lives. We cannot all be as strong as you, Kíli, and ignore our duties for what we want. Not everybody has the freedom and choices you have been given, so just leave it. Do you hear me? Enough.”

Both of them look lost now but not frightened or angry. They glance at each other and Thorin sees the gears turning, the questions forming. His outburst doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact at all.

“You told him to leave but you obviously miss him.” Fíli says finally. “Why would you do that? If you can tell us nothing else at least tell us why.”

Thorin’s eyes fall on Kíli before he looks away. “I can’t.”

With a wounded sounds Fíli turns around and storms off. Both Thorin and Kíli look after him sadly and Thorin notices his heir’s limp growing more pronounced as he makes it further away. He was not yet finished healing no matter what he had convinced Óin.

“We don’t want you to keep secrets from us Uncle.” Kíli says, still staring at where his brother has disappeared inside the mountain. “It scares us.”

Thorin sighs, feeling like somebody has wrung him out and pummeled him after for good measure. “Do not be scared, _namadinùdoy._ This is for me to bear, not you. The only reason I do not confide in you both is that it would be far too painful and result in nothing.”

“Showing you trust us is not nothing.”

“Oh, Kíli.” Thorin puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him so they face one another. He’s struck suddenly by how similar they are in looks. Though Fíli is more like Thorin personality wise, Kíli could be his double in looks from one hundred years ago.

There is a cruel irony in that, Thorin is sure. He can’t be bothered to look for it.

“If after all this time you do not believe I trust you then I have failed you greatly. You two are precious to me beyond measure and I trust you both with my life. I have in the past, many times. Neither of you have failed me.”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t let yourself be happy.” Kíli’s brows pull together as he mutters the words.

“I am happy.” The king tries to smile but it disappears in seconds.

Kíli looks hurt. “Don’t lie to me.”

Thorin holds his eyes before nodding shortly once. “Perhaps not. But progress is slow, Kíli. We have reclaimed our home after all these years and there is still so much to do. And we paid a great price for it.” Thorin swallows. “More than you know. If I feel anything, it is bittersweet.”

“What price?” Kíli pushes quietly. “We are alive, we’re together. What else is there?”

Unthinkingly Thorin glances around them and when he looks back at Kíli he sees his nephew has followed his gaze.

“I don’t know what would be worse.” The younger Dwarf says finally after it becomes clear Thorin won’t answer his question. “You telling Bilbo to go and breaking his heart, or him wanting to leave and breaking yours.”

“Who says only one of us has our heart broken?”

Kíli makes a sound. “See that’s what we don’t understand! You both love each other and want to be together- so why aren’t you? What is this all for?”

Thorin bites his lip, regretting his lamenting words. He hadn’t meant to say that, they had just slipped out. “Some things are greater than two people. Sacrifices must be made for the bigger picture.” The words are hollow coming out of his mouth and he remembers his grandfather saying them to him when Thorin was a small Dwarfling sitting on his knee. “Sometimes love is not enough.”

Kíli looks at him as if he doesn’t recognize Thorin at all. “Of course it is. You just haven’t fought hard enough.”

The king blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Love is always enough as long as you aren’t a coward. Look at me and Tauriel!” He cocks his head. “And you know that. You gathered twelve Dwarves, a Wizard and a Hobbit and managed to reclaim a kingdom from a Dragon because of your love for Erebor. You helped save so many Dwarves from Smaug because of the love you have for your people. You accepted help from Thranduil because of the love you have for this place!” Kíli shakes his head. “Do not stand there and tell me love is not enough when you are the one who taught me that it is.”

Thorin hadn’t known it was possible for his heart to break further. He feels like he’s shrunk to two feet tall or as if someone holds his heart in one hand and is slowly squeezing it to see how much he can take.

There isn’t much he can think of to say to that but eventually he speaks, voice dull and allowing for no argument. “Not this time.”

It’s the truth but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

Kíli makes a disbelieving sound, staring at Thorin in a mixture of shock and horror that causes the king’s gut to twist. Silence lasts for a few more minutes but when Thorin makes it clear he will say nothing else he watches as his other nephew leaves. It is only a short time later when he decides to go back in himself, not bothering to reprimand Dwalin for allowing them in to see him like he would have only hours ago.

Things change after that though he can’t explain why.

Fíli is still upset at him and Kíli is hurt, and the others are wary of his returned temper, but after that night Thorin begins to make a bit of effort again. He can practically hear Bilbo chiding him for having been so grumpy and mean, and the reminder of his behaviour fills him with shame.

It is nobody’s fault but his that he is broken. The others should not have to suffer for it.

He has breakfast with the Company that week. At first conversation is slow and it is awkward, but Dwarves are never one for holding on to anger when food provides a good distraction, and Thorin had asked Bombur to make the best that day. Soon he is talking quietly with Bifur- always the most forgiving of them all- and Óin.

He ignores the angry looks from Bofur and the mistrustful eyes of his oldest nephew. Now that he has decided to mend bridges, he is determined to do it right.

Soon after he asks Kíli and Fíli to dine with him at least once a day, resuming the practice they had all had back when Bilbo was staying there. It takes nearly two weeks before Kíli no longer has to fill the long silences and Fíli and Thorin talk to one another like they once had, but Thorin is grateful. Knowing the stubbornness of Dwarves he knows it could have been much longer.

They still carefully avoid the topic of Bilbo but Fíli seems to be letting it go now, for which Thorin is grateful. The rest of the Company too no longer talk about the Hobbit as often and Thorin wonders whether that is for his sake or just a result of time.

A few weeks pass and Kíli complains that Tauriel has nobody to eat with when Thorin has a meal with the brothers. After only a moments hesitation Thorin tells Kíli to bring Tauriel along as well.

He thinks he can picture the proud look Bilbo would give him.

This is how things go. Thorin does his duties and slowly, bit by bit, he begins to take pride in the accomplishments he sees again. The front gate has been entirely rebuilt and is now regularly patrolled. Living quarters for the caravan from the Blue Mountains have been excavated and readied for habitation. The hot water pipes run through the entire mountain, the boilers and forges work daily, and their dead have been properly remembered. Food is growing, hunting is fruitful,l and there is peace among the Dwarves in Erebor.

He has regular correspondence with Bard and Thranduil and sometimes he doesn’t feel like splitting his own head open afterwards. Trade is flourishing, and traveling between their kingdoms has never been safer. Thranduil has sent Elf companies out on raids to drive off the Orcs and any other enemies on the roads near Mirkwood, and Thorin had been told by Bard that the Elf King is even exterminating the spider infestation in his forest. The Dwarves and Men work together to patrol their lands closer to Erebor and apart from one skirmish with Orcs he has heard no sign of them.

Dale is coming along slowly and the Humans were all officially living back there, not one remaining in the Lonely Mountain.

Things have returned to as close to normal with Fíli and Kíli as he can hope for, Thorin is slowly getting to know Tauriel and will admit to a few others that he is even beginning to like her. Dís is close to arriving and the Company meets weekly for at least one meal, and though Bofur still won’t look Thorin in the eye he thinks that may change soon too. When he had asked him to pass the butter the other day Bofur had done it after waiting only a few moments rather than ignoring him altogether.

Thorin won’t say that he is happy, exactly. But he is content enough and sometimes, rarely, he can look around and be proud without remembering what it took to get here; without recalling the price it cost him. He always thinks of Bilbo and how if it wasn’t for the Hobbit he would have none of this.

There is a new mantra that he lives by. He no longer worries about what will make him happy or what his pride will allow. Instead he makes every decision based on one question: what would make Bilbo proud?

If the success they are all feeling lately is anything to go by, Thorin should have been ruling this way from the beginning. It hasn’t steered him wrong yet.

He still aches for his One and there are bad days along with the good. Thorin still tends to spend most of his spare time in the garden, first by making pathways littered with gravel and then lining them with lamps, or by weeding and trimming when he needs to. One newly finished bench is sitting beside a plum tree. The one Thorin is currently working on will go near one of the apple trees and perhaps the last one he’ll make sit next to one that would grow cherries.

There is still a gap in the middle, waiting for a seed that has not yet arrived.

The pain he feels from Bilbo’s absence is like an open wound. It hurts when people speak of him and hurts when they don’t. Every achievement that passed them by makes Thorin wish Bilbo could be there to see. Every annoying letter from Thranduil reminds the Dwarf king of Bilbo’s mediating skills and the unique way the Hobbit had of calming him down and forgetting all about the stuck-up Elf.

Every night Thorin lies in his bed alone and he wishes, with all his heart, that things were different.

But the next day he always rises and catches a glimpse of Kíli and Tauriel. Thorin has his work to distract himself with. Kíli wouldn’t have had that if Thorin had sent the ex-captain of the Elf guard away. No, it was likely that Kíli would have gone after her and never returned, the two of them banished from Mirkwood and Erebor, a blight on Thorin and their family.

On the bad days he allows himself to picture what Bilbo could be doing. He would nearly be home by now, Thorin thinks, unless they had stayed at or Rivendell for an extended amount of time. He doesn’t think that would be necessary, what with it being summer and ideal travel conditions, but then again, he has no say in the matter.

But he pictures Bilbo back home, in his Shire, in his Hobbit-hole. Bag-End, the place Bilbo’s father had built for his mother with his own hands. A home of love.

He will be happy to be back, Thorin hopes. With the comforts of his beloved books and armchair. His food and doilies. Perhaps he will host a big meal to celebrate and invite over the neighbours- the ones he likes, that is. No Sackville-Baggins’ most like. But he’d always sounded fond of one of his workers, what had been his name? Gamgee?

Perhaps after his adventure he would attract the interest of another Hobbit. Male or female, Thorin doesn’t care, they’re always faceless in his imagination. In fact, he can’t really picture them at all. Just an unknown entity that scares Thorin more than anything else in the world.

It is always around this time that he can hold the illusion no longer. Objectively he knows that Bilbo will most likely move on and fall in love with somebody else but that doesn’t mean Thorin has to think about it, or that he can bear to.

He remembers Balin’s warning to him from months ago. Kíli and Tauriel might be together, Bilbo may end up with someone new, but Thorin will be alone forever. Alone and heartbroken always, half of himself from now on. He had known what he was dooming himself to, but that does not make it any easier to stand.

He’s tired. More than anything, Thorin is just downright exhausted. He doesn’t know what is the lesser of two evils- not being with Bilbo or knowing that it is his own fault.

What does it matter anyway, he thinks while staring out over the mountain’s edge from his bench. The leaves of the trees rustle next to him and the sun shines down on the newly finished orchard. Only that one space in the middle remains and Thorin never heard a reply for his idea. Perhaps the space will always stay empty.

He can do nothing to change it, not now. He can’t change anything. Thorin has made his bed and now it is time for him to lie in it.

He has a lot to be thankful for after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update, real life has been crazy lately. I hope to post the next update this weekend- we're finally going to meet Dís!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where Dís is dumb but somehow Thorin is still dumber. 
> 
> Ghivashith – treasure that is young  
> Amad- mother  
> Nadad- brother  
> Namad- sister  
> Ghivashel- treasure of all treasures  
> Gimlelul- my brightest star

Just over six months after Bilbo leaves, Dís and the caravan from the Blue Mountains arrive at Erebor.

Thorin meets with the runner from Dale who King Bard sent to warn them and then later with the Dwarf messengers Dís sends ahead. Ronni, the messenger, informs Thorin that Dís is only a day away and should arrive before lunchtime. The news is met with relief and excitement, including from Thorin himself.

After Thorin excuses her he has a guard show the tired Dwarf to the living quarters where she can choose her family’s new rooms.

Fíli is with him when Ronni gives her message, as is Balin. Thorin immediately calls for Dáin and when they’re all gathered together, he’s relieved to hear that all preparations for the Dwarves’ arrival are complete.

This is it. Thorin’s people are coming, either returning to their old homes or on their way to see it for the first time, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they have come.

Dís’ letters have made it clear that not everyone had chosen to make the journey and come back home. Some Dwarves are too old, others had made new lives for themselves in the Blue Mountains that they did not want to give up. A few, Dís wrote, weren’t confident that Erebor was as safe as everyone claimed and would not fall victim to another attack.

Months ago, those things might have discouraged Thorin or roused his anger, but at this point all he knows is that he is grateful for those who have come. Dís had numbered the caravan in the thousands which was the majority of the Seventh Kingdom.

And now they’re here.

Thorin is standing with his nephews, Tauriel, Dwalin, Balin and a few others on the top of the ramparts watching the approaching horde. Countless animals and wagons are being pulled along by huge crowds of Dwarves. They have slowly made their way around Dale and have just begun to cross the wide expanse of land that will bring them to the gates of Erebor.

In the front is Dís. Thorin knows it’s her even from the great distance and his poorer-than-most eyesight.

She sits astride her pony proudly, shoulders thrown back and straight, royal flag carried by the Dwarf a stride or so behind her. She has decked herself in royal dress. Her cloak is their house colours, the dark royal blue edged in silver, and she has fastened it as more of a shawl that hangs to the crooks of her arms, fastened by a golden broach. Her shirt is a light silver and her trousers the same dark navy as the cloak. Thorin knows they are tucked into her well-loved black riding boots, which have likely been shined to perfection.

On her head he can see her diadem. It had been the only piece of royal treasure they had managed to take away from Smaug, and Dís has been the proud and careful owner ever since. She only wears it on official engagements when she needs to make her authority known and it is always all the more striking for it.

She and Thorin are unalike in looks. Dís has always resembled bright-haired Frerin more than her older brother. Her hair is long and braided back fiercely, the blonde streaked with grey. Thorin wonders if she’s gained any more since they’d begun their journey and he’d last seen her.

“There she is!” Kíli says, pointing for Tauriel who is watching the huge group come towards them with wide eyes. “In the center at the front.”

“She is very beautiful,” Tauriel murmurs to her lover and Thorin feels a surge of pride at the words. “And she seems very strong.”

Those Elf eyes had to come in handy sometimes, Thorin supposes.

“She is.”

Fíli is watching as Kíli confirms Tauriel’s words. The younger of the two brothers is dressed in a red jacket lined with gold and broken up with a crisp white undershirt. His trousers are black and he is freshly washed.

“Beautiful I mean. And strong too! She’s always beat Fíli and I in a fight.”

“She’s good at that.” Thorin rumbles and Tauriel shoots him a surprised look.

“She can best you as well?”

“All the time when I was younger.” Dwalin snorts and Thorin glares at him. “Less so now but it does happen.” Dwalin laughs again and Thorin rolls his eyes. “Rarely. Her victories over Dwalin are much more common.”

That makes his friend shut up quickly and shoot him an unhappy scowl.

Tauriel looks back to Dís with a new appreciation in her eyes, her green cloak blowing back gently from the wind. “I am excited to meet her.”

“Uncle, can we go down?” Fíli looks like a king already, dressed as he is in red cloth edged in gold like his brother. Their father’s colours. His sword is strapped to his side and his hair combed back and freshly braided, as is his beard.

“Yes, I think we should.” Thorin agrees and he turns to lead the way, his dark fur-shouldered cloak dragging behind him.

He is wearing their family colours like Dís, an open necked navy shirt trimmed in the royal silver and dark trousers tucked into his brown boots. Strapped at his waist is Orcrist and he has fresh hair beads clipped into his braids. He had spent the morning washing and doing his hair, only lamenting for a moment that he had been forced to do it himself.

Balin is wearing patterned dark crème robes, verging on grey. Dwalin is forever beside Thorin in full battle armour and moving as soundlessly down the stairs as Tauriel does.

They order the doors open and spill out of Erebor when Dís is only 50 feet or so away, and by now Thorin sees her wide smile. Her dark eyes frantically take in Fíli and Kíli before they land on Thorin’s and he smiles at his younger sister.

She smiles back, face softening further before winking. Thorin’s smile widens and he takes in the Dwarves behind her who are beginning to yell from excitement.

In fact, he hears the huge crowd of Erebor’s Dwarves behind him growing louder as well, and soon cheers are filling the air, ringing so loudly that Thorin is sure they can be heard by Bard in Dale, if not all the way at Mirkwood.

The seconds it takes for Dís to break forward from the rest, followed closely by her guards and one handmaiden, seem to stretch. There are men lining the walls of Dale, trying to watch, and the crowd behind Thorin feels like a living animal moments away from surging forward and disobeying orders.

This is what he fought for, all those years. This is what he missed as an outcast.

Dáin stumbles up to stand a step back behind him and Thorin turns his head a fraction in silent question. His cousin is wearing a few pieces of his armour, enough for the message to get across. Thorin notes the lack of helmet and crown and is glad he is not the only one lacking regalia in the face of his sister.

“I slept in.”

“Ah.” He bites back a frustrated frown. “How happy I am you made it.”

And then, making further explanation impossible, Dís is there.

“Halt!” She calls back and the caravan stops as one, a movement so perfect Thorin just knows she practiced it. He thinks he hears a distance clang as one Dwarf runs into another or something falls from the sudden jerk, and his eyes brighten. From the way Dís looks at him, he knows she’s heard it too, and it would mean certain bodily harm if Thorin was ever to comment on it.

Eh. He’s willing to risk it.

His sister dismounts followed by a small group of other Dwarves. He recognizes them all, old nobles and a few councillors that had not been in the Company, the small group sent ahead, or Dáin’ army.

He takes in the faces, smiling and serious alike, and the travel worn clothing and animals. He hears the cries of children and takes in once again how big the group of them are.

The king steps forward, away from the others. Dís stops a few feet in front of him and their eyes meet, both knowing just how much weight this moment holds.

Thorin spreads his arms. Making his voice loud enough to be heard in the sudden hushed quiet he says, “I welcome you all home.”

When he looks back up, Dís’ eyes are shining, and her diadem catches the sunlight as she bends down. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

As if it is a sign, both of the crowds erupt into cheers and chants louder than before. The Dwarves from Erebor rush forward past the royal family to weave their ways through the crowds and find their loved ones or help carry the huge quantities of furniture and other goods brought with them.

Thorin almost doesn’t notice. He’s too busy holding an arm out to Dís who clasps it and brings him forward, thunking their foreheads together.

“Oh brother, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.” Her voice is wavering only slightly and they pull away.

“I am glad you are here.” Thorin says, tightening his hold on her arm once in a silent greeting before they let go. “It has been too long.”

Her eyes rise up to take in the rebuilt gates of Erebor and she blinks, clearing her throat quietly. “Much too long.” Brown eyes fall to Thorin’s blue. “If only Frerin could see it too.”

Thorin nods, picturing their young brother’s excitement, the way his face would be alight with happiness. Frerin had never had any of the weight harrying him that Thorin and Dís always have and Thorin misses that greatly. Though, his nephews seem to emulate their younger uncle without trying.

Which reminds him. Thorin blinks just in time for Dís to look past him at her boys. Immediately her smile widens to fill her whole face and Thorin steps aside just as she says “and you two! Get over here, have you been away so long you’ve forgotten your own mother?”

“What do you mean?” Fíli challenges even as they run to her open arms and the three of them pull close together.

“Yeah! You’re the one who took ages to get here,” Kíli mumbles, voice muffled in his mother’s neck.

“Me!” She pulls away from them with a laugh and Thorin sees the eyes of her guards widen. He can sympathize, given that their family usually aren’t prone to such open displays. “Says the boys who took over a year on this blasted quest of yours.”

“That wasn’t our fault!”

“Yeah, blame Uncle.” Fíli ’s smile is wicked and Thorin’s brows pull together unhappily. “He’s the one who insulted the Elves after we were captured, which made Thranduil lock us up for a month!”

“A month!” Dís turns to stare at Thorin before her eyes catch sight of Balin. “Tell me this is slander my sons have concocted to play a trick on me. Surely my brother could not have been so foolish.”

“Alas, my lady, it is true. It was only due to Bilbo’s help that we eventually escaped.”

A few of them glance towards Tauriel who is standing quietly near Dwalin. She has no outward reaction to the reminder of her failure at guarding them, instead only looking closely at Kíli and Dís.

“Master Baggins?” Dís repeats.

Instead of looking to Tauriel her eyes flicker to Thorin who watches her carefully, hearing the tone of her voice and knowing immediately that it means somehow his sister knows something. The look in her eyes is too familiar, the probing of her question too pointed, for true innocence.

“Yeah! He’s the Hobbit, Mum, remember? We told you all about him in our letters.”

“Oh yes.” She finally turns from Thorin to smile at Kíli. “You must tell me everything again now that I’m here.”

“We will.” Thorin breaks in, wondering at how it didn’t even take a full ten minutes before Bilbo was brought up. “But first there is an introduction to be made.”

Kíli is already gesturing to Tauriel to move forwards before Thorin finishes speaking, and the Elf does, steps light and face blank. Her hands are behind her back, and as she moves towards them she glances at Thorin and he sees something almost pleading in her expression, before she stops in front of Dís and the boys standing at her sides. Dís looks wary, eyes taking in the Elf from head to toe.

His sister meets his eyes, questioning. Thorin tips his head slightly, indicating that Dís should wait for the Elf to speak, taking note of the way his sister’s face tenses.

“Lady Dís.” Tauriel bows low. “My name is Tauriel. I am-”

“ _You_ are Tauriel?”

The Elf falls silent at the interruption as Dís’ eyes widen and the Dwarrowdam takes a step forward in shock, as if preparing to study her. Kíli moves forward like a striking snake, quick as a whip to stand beside Tauriel and take her hand.

“You are the one my sons have written to me about? The One for Kíli?” It is only from watching Dís grow up that Thorin sees how deeply she’s shaken. “An _Elf_?”

Tauriel’s posture does not change but Thorin knows somehow that her attitude has gone from nervous to defensive. He sees Kíli straighten beside her. “Yes, Mother-”

“Not a word from you!” Dís says, finger raised threateningly before surprising them all and turning to Thorin. “How on Middle Earth could you let this happen?”

Immediately his hackles rise and he sets his features. “Dís, you do not have all the facts.”

“I don’t need them!” She calls and Thorin winces inwardly, knowing they are undoubtedly calling an audience. “She is an Elf, Thorin, another race! It is impossible that she is his One.”

“Mother-”

“And you!” She rounds on Fíli and hits his shoulder. “What were you thinking, allowing your little brother to be so foolish? Did all of your brains collectively disappear on this quest of yours? Have you so little sense?” She stares at the couple in horror. “This is unnatural.”

Kíli looks so hurt that Thorin’s heart reaches out to him before he sees his young nephew’s face grow cold. “I will not stand here and let you insult her, Mother.”

“Nor will I stand and be insulted.” Tauriel says quietly.

A shocked silence rings through them all. It is rare that Thorin has ever seen Kíli stand up to his mother in such a way, and from Dís’ expression she knows it just as well.

His eyes meet Dáin’s who gestures subtly to the groups of Dwarves curving around them to get into Erebor and Thorin nods.

“Dís, enough.” His words brook no argument. “Kíli and Tauriel are One in the eyes of Mahal. You will accept it.”

“Accept it?” She splutters rounding on him. “This is coming from you! An Elf-hater if there ever was one! What has she done to you all, to make you so blind?”

Thorin grits his teeth and clenches his fists. “You missed much, sister. And we will explain it all to you but for now I ask that you set your anger aside. We should go in.”

For the first time Dís seems to remember where they are, and when she looks around and sees the few pairs of eyes that nervously look away, she schools herself.

“Yes, fine. You’re right. But you two-” Her eyes fall to Kíli and Tauriel’s clasped hands. “I-”

“We will go and help the others settle in.” Kíli interrupts her, eyes and voice hard. Tauriel is looking quickly between them all but she nods when Thorin’s eyes fall on hers.

“A good idea!” Dáin booms, startling them all. “Now cousin, what’s this, in all the excitement you forget to greet your own kin?”

He quickly sweeps a startled Dís up in a hug and Thorin moves over to the pair.

“I will speak to her and we will find you both later.” He promises, setting a hand on Kíli’s shoulder. “All will be well, _ghivashith_. She loves you too much to allow this to come between you, and Dís has always been more open-minded than I. If I can learn to overcome my prejudices, then so can she.”

Kíli frowns further and stares at his _Amad,_ obviously still upset. Thorin looks over and sees Dís watching the three of them closely, anger in her eyes even as Dáin talks away beside her.

Tauriel speaks when Kíli does not. “Thank you, sire. We will wait for you to come find us.”

Her voice seems to snap Kíli out of his daze. “Yes, alright. Let’s go.”

He turns around and leads her off and Tauriel follows quickly, bending down to whisper hurriedly in Kíli’s ear as they go.

Thorin feels Fíli come and stand beside him. “I should go with them.”

“Yes.” Thorin agrees, surprised he did not think of that himself. “I will handle your mother.”

His nephew sighs and speaks heavily. “She’s just shocked. This is a big day for her.”

Thorin takes in the sight of Erebor, the sound of hooves clipping along the stone as more animals are led inside. He sees the Entrance Hall filling, watches as some Dwarves are led to stables and animal shelters while others go to living quarters. The smell of livestock has begun to permeate the air and he thinks it is high time all of them move to another location free of the smell of animal fur.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Fíli says lightly and touches Thorin quickly on the arm. “Tauriel and I will calm him down.”

“Thank you.”

Fíli nods quickly before walking away and leaving Thorin behind with Balin, Dwalin, Dáin and Dís. He meets Dwalin’s eyes, which are unimpressed, before turning back to his sister. Dáin is still nattering away and Thorin can’t help but find it a bit amusing.

“Right.” He says as he moves towards them. “Some of the servants will drop off your things in your old rooms. Would you rather bathe and rest or-”

“I’ll take a tour, brother.” She sounds stony and her eyes pierce like daggers. “And more than a few explanations as well, if you don’t mind.”

It is very clear that even if he does mind there isn’t an option.

Thorin resigns himself to his fate. It is a common thing for him around Dís. “Very well.”

Dís’ face softens as their eyes hold, though anybody else would be hard pressed to notice.

“It _is_ good to see you, _nadad_. And to come home.” Her wide eyes lift to take in the huge metal doors, swung open to receive their guests. Dark metal they reach up to the smoothly carved ramparts.

“Are you ready to see it?” Thorin asks gently, the issue of Dís’ disapproval of Kíli and Tauriel momentarily pushed aside.

“Yes.” She breathes and is moving past him before he can so much as blink.

Thorin looks at Dáin who grins widely back at him before they both follow, Dwalin and Balin falling behind them all.

“I had expected you to be in full royal regalia,” Dís murmurs to Thorin when he falls into step beside her. “Yet you are naked of gold and jewels.”

Thorin keeps his expression carefully neutral. “Yes. There is no need to display our wealth now, _namad_ , it is clear for all to see.”

“Was there ever a need? I thought it was purely to show off.” Dís laughs but she is the only one and it soon fades away as she loses herself in wonder once they enter the crowds of Dwarves in the mountain.

Walking beside Dís it is as if Thorin is seeing Erebor for the first time again. The huge Entrance Hall fills with other Dwarves of all colours, shapes and rank. Everyone that Thorin and his party pass bow, and a few nobles Thorin knows well come up to congratulate him on his successful quest. More than a few have tears on their cheeks falling into their beards, and Thorin feels touched to see the reactions of those around him.

An air hangs around them all. One of great joy but it was mixed with the memory of pain and grief. He can understand that well.

After a few more guards have joined them Thorin turns to Dís. “Where first?”

Dís’ eyes gleamed and Thorin remembers that his sister, though a hand at most occupations, truly finds her calling in excavation. “Down. I want to start in the mines.”

So they do. Dáin is just as much of a captive audience as Dís, though he has undoubtedly explored all of Erebor as well by now, and is likely doing it for her benefit. Thorin takes them down the stone stairs to the highest level of mines, noting that Balin has split away to help greet and direct the newcomers.

There are mines and chambers hundreds of feet below the earth but their small group stops at the entrance to only the highest. The air is already cooler, and the dark stone ensures there is no light but that of the braziers and other torches. Lower down there are glowing ores that make torches unnecessary, but up here fire has to be enough.

They go to the hot springs next, whose pipes run through the walls and pathways to heat the entire kingdom and feed into the bathing pools next door. Huge carved pools of steaming water, numbering in the hundreds, and located in rooms that are spread throughout all of Erebor.

Next Thorin leads them to the one of the many forges, lit and working, and then to one of the rooms a bulk of the treasure horde has been moved to.

“Glóin is still counting it all out.” Dáin says outside of the doors before opening it wide to show Dís who gasps.

Thorin stops just on the threshold, feeling caught in the sudden shine of the gold. Even filled with nothing but yellow coins this room gleams. For a moment he thinks he hears a whispering hiss, reminiscent of that of Smaug, and he gasps, going cold and stumbling backwards.

“Thorin!” Dwalin is immediately at his side and supporting him and Dís and Dáin hurry the few steps out of the room to stand worriedly in front of him.

“What? What happened?” Dís demands, looking between them all before grasping Thorin’s upper arms. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Thorin rasps, noting the glimpses of gold he could still see from the room. “Please, cousin, close the door.”

Understanding dawns on Dáin’s face and he hurries to do so while Dís watches them in confusion. “Thorin? What is it?”

He has only made it up to stopping at Beorn’s in his recounting of their adventures to Dís. Thorin had been hoping that the truth of his dragon sickness might wait until afterwards, or at least the end.

A foolish wish, of course.

“I had not wished to trouble you with this your first day home.” He swallows, glancing at Dwalin who nods before looking Dís in the eye. “But you should know, _namad_ , that I was overcome with gold sickness as soon as we had reclaimed Erebor from Smaug.”

Dís gasps and her arms fall at her sides. “No.”

“Yes. Dwalin can attest to it as can the rest of the Company.” He hesitates. “It was only in the midst of the battle that I got through it and even now I do not trust myself.”

“Then we shall not linger.” Dís says after a quick pause, and Thorin meets her heavy gaze with one of his own. Wordless understanding passes between them and Thorin knows they are both remembering Grandfather.

They quickly begin walking, avoiding the other treasuries before they pass another bath house.

“Tell me, did the boys suffer as well?”

His mouth twists. “I do not believe Kíli did. Fíli … perhaps, though I was not in the best frame of mind to judge.”

Dís’ mouth thins and she looks at Dwalin. “Tell me Dwalin, what do you think?”

“I suspect there was a hint of it, Lady Dis.” Dwalin says quietly. “But it never amounted to anything and is long passed.”

Only Thorin sees the flash of fear in her eyes.

“You were like Grandfather?” She asks him intensely.

“Yes.” He swallows. “Just as bad, if not worse.”

“And how did you break it?” Dís inquires. “In case I need to know for the future. Have you taken precautions?”

“I have.”

Thorin’s tongue wets his lips as he remembers back to before the Battle, remembers his vision of Smaug slithering through the floor of gold and watching himself drown in it with his and Bilbo’s words ringing in his ears.

What had made him break the disease’s hold on him?

Why, Bilbo’s betrayal and Thorin’s subsequent actions. Almost killing his One in cold blood and then watching as Bilbo escaped to the safety of Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil of all beings. Threatening to murder Dwalin, his own best friend, for merely telling him the truth, and finally, seeing what would come to him should he continue to push everybody but the dragon hoard away.

He would have drowned from his own wealth. Already he had been sinking, further and further into a place he could not escape. It was only by the barest scraps of his strength at the last moment that he did.

But he can not tell Dís his recovery had been implemented by the breaking of his own heart.

“I could not say.” Thorin says and glances at his guard. “Though Dwalin had done a good job of knocking some sense in to me. Perhaps that was the start of it.”

Dís follows his look. “Then Dwalin we owe you much. I hope you have rewarded him, Thorin.”

Thorin’s brows furrow as he remembers he has not, in fact, done anything more than thank his brother in arms. Just as he opens his mouth to rectify his mistake, Dwalin speaks.

“If the fool manages to keep himself alive for another 70 years at least then I will have been well rewarded. Perhaps you can help him with that, my lady.”

Dís smiles. “How many times do I need to ask you to simply call me Dís? We have known one another since we were children.”

“It wouldn’t be proper, my lady.”

Thorin and Dís both snort.

“You call my brother and my sons by their given names, Dwalin, what makes me so special? My father is no longer around to smack you on the ear if he heard you, I promise.”

They are on the ground level of Erebor now and Thorin points out the doors that lead to the family apartments, the stables and the baths. A few school rooms are distributed through the mountain, though most Dwarves directly enter an apprenticeship under a master of their craft when they become old enough. Deeper into the center of Erebor is the market, and near them are more baths and the Auction Hall. The kitchens take up an entire quarter of this floor and that isn’t even including grain and meat storage.

They make it to Durin’s Hall where the official throne made of diamond sits. This is not the throne that holds the Arkenstone up near the royal living quarters, which is used for smaller and more private gatherings of nobles. No, this is the throne for all of Erebor to see where Thorin can sit and preside over large official ceremonies.

All along the walls are carved depictions of Dwarven battles and victories of the past. Banners hang in all colours and designs, and Thorin wonders at the speed of the Dwarves who have newly put them up. And in the center of one wall is a huge statue of Durin himself.

Their group climbs higher, walking over the raised stone paths. More living quarters, libraries, rooms for scribes and accountants and other officials all lie behind the doors lining the halls.

They make it to the second throne, grey and desolate, looking empty on top of the raised dais all alone. And at the top in the center there is an empty gaping hole where the Arkenstone should be.

Thorin still feels a burst of satisfaction whenever he sees it.

“Fíli and Kíli wrote and told me of its disappearance. Word spread through our travel party.” Dís stares up at the throne.

“A horrible loss.” Dáin rumbles. “Though I am sure it will be found. It cannot stay hidden for long and all of Arda knows that it belongs to Erebor.”

When Thorin looks away from his seat it is to be arrested by his sister pinning him with her eyes. Again, she looks knowing, and there is a question written across her face as she searches him the best she can.

“I would not be so sure.” She murmurs in reply to their cousin and Thorin blinks in shock.

What did Dís _know_? And how?

“If it is not then we will survive.” Thorin says and he knows without turning that Dwalin is looking unhappy behind him. “We don’t need the Arkenstone to cement our power or status. And it has caused enough strife.”

This time he does look, and he sees Dwalin focused on him already, dawning comprehension in his expression.

Thorin hopes he spreads his new-found theories. Even now Erebor is still in an uproar over the stone’s loss, though nothing can be done about it, and he knows that many wonder why he has not put more energy into finding it. If Dwalin thinks it is because of its role in Thorin’s gold sickness then he will not dispute it.

They move on. To the armoury, another smithy, the jewelers and metal workers and glass blowers’ rooms. Council rooms, war rooms, meeting rooms and more. The royal kitchens where Bombur would normally be hard at work if he was not down greeting his wife and children.

Eventually they make it up to the highest floor. Dís knows these just as well as Thorin, if not better, and he doesn’t bother naming the rooms. Instead he waits in the hall outside of the royal library as she wanders its rows, and they pass the rooms of the Company and their families.

Glóin’s quarters are on the end, beside the empty rooms for visiting dignitaries. The door is open as they pass and Dís stops at the sight of a short young Dwarrow.

“Gimli!”

The Dwarf turns in surprise and his face breaks out in a smile. The poor lad barely has scruff on his chin, less than even Thorin who has continued to trim his own beard.

“Lady Dís! Cousin!”” His face pales when he spots Thorin last. “Your Majesty.”

He bows clumsily and Thorin feels a smile turn up his lips; his mood that had fallen due to passing the library lifts once more. “Gimli. I trust your journey went will.”

“Yes, very well! I killed more than a few Orcs on our way.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Thorin congratulates and sees the Dwarrow puff out his chest.

A small axe hangs at his waist, gleaming and sharpened as well as can be expected from his long journey. Poor lad, he’d been desperate to join them on their quest for Erebor, and it had taken Glóin, Balin, Fíli and Thorin all to deny him.

“Your father will be proud. He has been anxious to see you once again.”

A light blush stains the red-haired Dwarf’s cheekbones, merging spectacularly with his hair. “I’m very happy to be here.”

“As are we all, young cousin.” Dáin steps forward and claps him on the back. “Where have your parents got to, eh?”

“Ah.” Gimli’s blush deepens. “They’re busy, em, setting up their bedroom. I was about to go and find Fíli and Kíli.”

Thorin’s lips twitch again and Dís laughs. “A good idea. Come along, little one, let us find my wandering boys.”

They make their way past the Ri brothers’ quarters. Nori meets them in the hall, causing Dwalin to linger in the midst of glaring at him. The former thief smirks back until Thorin just waves Dwalin off eventually, knowing his friend too well.

Dwalin took his duty seriously, it was true, but the blooming relationship between him and Nori is his greatest distraction at the moment.

Besides Thorin has Orcrist and if anything attacks he is sure Dís, Dáin and himself will be more than enough to handle it.

Which makes him realize they have lost Dis’ guards as well. Dáin, the great numpty, hasn’t bothered with any.

“Oh, I sent them off to get settled.” Dís says when he asks. “If anybody thinks to come at me today they have another thing coming, I can promise you that.”

She has a smile tucked away in her beard and Thorin takes the smart route and avoids saying anything. He had caught sight of the knives gleaming at his sister’s waist.

“The boys should be in Kíli ’s rooms just here, Gimli.” Thorin says, gesturing to the correct doorway. “My sister and I will join you all in a while.”

“Yes, sire.” Gimli nods and then nods again at Dis before slipping away.

The young Dwarf hadn’t even taken off his green traveling cloak yet, bless him.

“Ah, I best go and help Balin and the others.” Dáin says and Thorin nods at him gratefully, glad that his cousin is taking the hunt. “Until later cousins. Good to have you back, Dís.”

He winks at her and then he’s quickly gone as well.

“Come on.” Thorin says once the other footsteps fade away. Dís is watching him suspiciously and she glances back at her sons’ door before following him.

“You’re not subtle.”

“I never claimed to be.”

“Well.” She huffs. “Good. Because you aren’t.”

Again Thorin almost smiles but then he’s opening the doors to Dís’ old chambers and she stops in the hallway.

She looks at him accusingly before sweeping past into her greeting room. A large square red rug covers the floor, old and weathered, but newly cleaned. Armchairs are sitting beside the large fire and a desk is in the corner by a door that leads to her bedroom.

Dís walks around slowly, taking in the old ornaments on the fireplace mantle. Glass figurines and other bits and pieces a young princess had collected over the years.

On the desk there is an old plate that likely once had half-eaten food on it but now sits abandoned.

He hears her breathe in shakily and moves forward, touching her shoulder lightly. She shoots him a watery smile before pulling her shoulders back and moving forward to open the door leading to her bedroom.

It is like somebody has taken the memory from Thorin’s brain and projected it into reality. Her bed is canopied and green, edged in golden tassels. Another fireplace roars bright and warm, a white fur rug lies on the floor in front of a wooden wardrobe. The dresser and vanity hold hairbrushes, hair beads, perfumes, jewellery and face paint. There is a bookshelf filled to overflowing with novels and books on histories and war tactics.

Sketches and paintings of family members hang around the room, and old clothes hang in the wardrobe when Dís opens it. One dress is lying draped across a chair. Her things from Ered Luin sit nearby, boxes and bags of them interspersed with the things they have replaced.

“It’s exactly how I left it.” She says quietly and when she looks over at him Thorin sees she is quietly crying again.

His throat tightens as he nods.

“Oh, _nadad_.” She comes towards him and he opens his arms immediately, pulling her towards him. “I am sorry you had to reclaim it without me.”

“You thought it was a fool’s errand.” Thorin says quietly, chin resting on the top of her head. He feels her beard tickle his neck as she breathes. “And you were not entirely wrong. Besides, I was not alone.”

“No.” She pulls away, sniffing. “My boys were there. And Dwalin, Balin and Glóin.”

“The others as well.” Thorin reminds her gently. “The Ri brothers and Bombur, Bofur and Bifur.”

“You’ve allowed them all to stay up here. In the nobility’s quarters.” Dís says not looking entirely happy about it.

Thorin nods, hearing the inquiry in her words. “They deserve to be rewarded for their loyalty and bravery.”

“They are not nobles, Thorin.”

“I have made them all lords.” He replies simply. “I will not be ungrateful for what they have done. Throughout everything they stood by me, even when I did not deserve it.”

“That sickness was not your fault.” Dís says, immediately following his train of thought, expression fierce. “I would have stood by you as well.”

He shakes his head and turns away. “Maybe, but they should not have. I nearly led us to ruin after achieving everything we’d set out to do.”

“Thorin.” Dís puts her hand on his arm, fingers tapping to reclaim his attention. “Tell me the rest of your tale.” Her face clouds. “And tell me of the Elf-lass. I know you have said to Kíli that you will calm me down.”

Thorin sighs and leads her over to the large chest at the foot of her bed which holds old papers and family heirlooms. Things such as clothing or jewellery. At the bottom there is an old sword, one Dís had kept polished and sharpened to perfection when she was young. One she knows how to wield easily.

“Dís you know me well, perhaps better than anyone.” Thorin does not think of Bilbo. “You know that I would not allow Tauriel to be here if I did not believe she was what was best for Kíli.”

Dís’ lips are thin. “You must have gained some brains on this journey of yours, for I find my heart softened by nostalgia.” She looks around again, eyes lingering. “And I am more willing to listen than I might otherwise have been. But Thorin, she is an Elf. I cannot believe that Mahal would allow a Dwarf to have a One that was not of our species. Especially not a tree-hugger.”

Again Thorin’s heart twists, but he doesn’t give any indication of that. He only holds her hands in his. “It is possible, Dís, I know it.”

Her eyes narrow. “How can you be so sure?”

His split second of hesitation is too long for his sister and she pulls away, watching him closely. “Thorin, this has nothing to do with-”

“Kíli would not lie to us about this. You know that as well as I. He hated Elves just as much as you or I, perhaps more based on the stories we told the two growing up. And Dís, he is your son, your boy. You cannot tell me that you would turn him away because of this.”

Thorin waits, hating to admit that he is unsure of what her answer will be. It is a long minute before his sister sighs, shoulders falling in a posture of defeat.

“I will love him always. He and Fíli are all I have left since Víli- since he is gone.”

“I know.” Thorin replies and he does. He knows the loss that Dís feels, though he has no right to compare the two. 

Mahal, if Dís ever finds out what Thorin has done, sending Bilbo away, what will her reaction be? To know how Thorin has treated his One when Dís has lost hers so soon after their marriage.

Not for the first-time, regret fills Thorin and he nearly gasps from it. For a while now he has begun to worry that he has made a grave and unfixable mistake.

He is fooling nobody. From the moment he first told Bilbo to leave he suspected he was making the wrong choice. Now it is too late to do anything about it.

“Kíli would not lie to us. He is in love if I have ever seen it.” Thorin smiles a bit. “He reminds me of Víli when he first courted you.”

Dís’ lips twitch. “Does he really?”

“For true.”

His sister loses her amusement a moment later. “I do not doubt Kíli, Thorin, but the Elf, Tauriel. What of her heart? Elves do not love as we do, and they have never bothered with mortals. She is dooming herself to heartbreak.”

Tauriel’s words from the orchard come back to him and Thorin feels older than his years, bearing all of the pain he does. “We cannot know the future, _namad_. Even Elves do not have that power. But if you are asking me if I believe she loves Kíli, the answer is yes, I do. She has forsaken her home for him.”

Her brown eyes widen. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth twists. “I thought Thranduil was behaving oddly when he journeyed with me for a bit through Mirkwood.”

Thorin blinks. “He rode with you?”

“Oh yes, for a ways. He told me of the battle and a few other things. I believe he was mostly taking stock of our numbers, and came to ensure we would not ruin his precious forest. But he was polite, and I behaved in kind, though I was hard pressed to not spit in his face at times.”

“I know the feeling.” Thorin mutters and his sister smiles.

“He did not say anything, but his attitude changed when he learned whose mother I am.” Dís’ lips twist before she shakes her head, clearing her expression until it becomes pointedly inquiring again. “Nor was he the only one we came across on our way here.”

At her words Thorin unwittingly freezes as a new suspicion fills him. Dís couldn’t have… but then it would explain why she seems to know so much already.

“But that can wait. Finish your tale and leave nothing out.”

Thorin is beginning to suspect Dís already knows a great deal more than she is letting on, but he does tell her of the second half of their journey. Being caught in Mirkwood, escaping to Lake-town and waking Smaug. He tells her of his Dragon sickness, how he accused everybody of stealing from him.

There is not much he doesn’t tell her, but those few hidden facts are precious. She has no need to know of his relationship with Bilbo, and he conveniently leaves out the fact that he had given the Burglar the mithril.

He laughs bitterly as he realizes for the first time that he has given away the two most precious items in Erebor’s horde to Bilbo. Both the Arkenstone and the mithril shirt are likely sitting in Bag-End right now, with the one person in the world who probably has no use for them.

He does not regret giving away either, but it makes his heart twist. It seems he could give away everything to Bilbo but himself.

No, he knows why those things are not of equal worth to Bilbo. Those gifts are things precious to Thorin, more of a statement to other Dwarves and a way of proving himself. A way to prove his love. It is the orchard that Bilbo would have appreciated most out of anything, and that is what Thorin had never been able to give him in the end.

It does warm a small part of him to know that Bilbo has a little piece of him with him though, and that Thorin has one in return.

But he is getting off track.

Dís looks at him strangely after his sudden bout of laughter and he coughs, brushing it off and finishing the tale.

“Mahal’s forges,” she breathes, reaching out to retake one of his hands. “To think you and your Company survived all of that.”

“It was not easy.” Thorin remembers the Carrock and Ravenhill. Remembers watching Azog throw Fíli aside after stabbing him, and of hearing about Bolg injuring Kíli before Legolas came and distracted him enough for Tauriel to spirit his nephew down to the healers.

They sit in silence until Dís sighs. “You are right. The least I can do is give Tauriel an audience. She has done much and more for my boy, for nothing but personal cost to herself.”

“She has lost much.” Thorin agrees. “And perhaps she is risking more than any of us.”

“Then I will speak with her before making up my mind completely.” She looks at him accusingly. “Though you have already done a good job of swaying me.”

Thorin sits back in smug satisfaction.

“Alright, enough.” His sister chides and stands, looking around her room once more. “I must see them. Both of my boys and the Elf.” She looks a bit contrite. “And I am beginning to suspect I owe an apology.”

Thorin laughs again, knowing those words are uncommon coming from his sister. Not because she is unwilling to apologize, but only because there is hardly ever a time when she needs to. It is rare that Dís is wrong.

“Come then. Let our family celebrate your homecoming.”

She smiles at him. “Lead the way brother.”

* * *

After meeting in Kíli’s rooms Dís gives short apology.

So short that Kíli does not have a chance to speak before Dis ends up surprising everybody by asking Tauriel for an audience.

Thorin waits in the living area with his nephews and Gimli after Dís had led Tauriel to the study. Hearing what is being said is impossible unless you pressed your ear against the door, which both Dis and Thorin have forbidden either Fíli or Kíli from doing.

“I’d best be going.” Gimli says in a nervous voice and he quickly turns to Thorin. “Your Majesty. Fíli, Kíli. All the best and good luck.”

He shoots Kíli a hopeful look before slipping quietly away and leaving Thorin to wonder if the young Dwarf was a bit scared of him or simply anxious to return to his parents.

It is a long while later that the women emerge. Both have watery eyes but when Thorin looks he sees them exchange warm smiles and Tauriel is more relaxed than the king can ever remember seeing her before.

“So?” Kíli has stood up quickly as they re-emerged, meeting first Tauriel’s eyes, who smiles, and then Dís’, who looks appropriately abashed.

His mother moves towards him, reaching out to uncross his arms and hold his hands. “I meant my apology earlier, _inùdoy_. I was wrong and I regret my words. My prejudices worked against me and I behaved in a way I never thought I could.” She moves one hand to cup Kíli’s face. “You and your brother are the most important things in the world to me, and I will not have you believe otherwise because of my stupidity. Though I have already apologized to Tauriel and she has accepted, I would ask you for your forgiveness, as it will break my heart until I know I have corrected the harm I caused.”

Kíli’s eyes are wide and he looks from his mother to Tauriel to Thorin and then back to the Elf, before finally meeting his mother’s eyes. “Do you mean it? You- you have no objection?”

“How could I?” Dís asks, stroking back one of his braids. “When she makes you so happy? And, from what she and your uncle have told me, she takes better care of you than you do, saving your life not once, not twice, but three times, unless I am mistaken?”

Thorin crosses his arms. “We would have made it away from the spiders.”

Tauriel makes a demure noise and he turns to glare at her but her expression is blank. From the glint in her eyes Thorin knows better than to pursue his point.

“I am sure you would have.” Dís says peacefully, never looking from her boy. “Tell me what I must do to earn your forgiveness, my _ghivashel_.”

“You have it, _amad_.” Kíli says in a choked voice before he pulls his mother into his arms.

“Oh good.” Fíli says loudly, making Thorin turn his gaze on him. “That was quicker than expected.”

Dís rounds a glare on him as well, and Tauriel shoots him a look of exasperation. Only Kíli smiles, widely and with complete happiness.

“I made a mistake, but it was one you could have easily made yourself, _gimlelul_. I hope this teaches you a lesson in knowing when you are in the wrong.”

“Oi, how did this become a lecture for me? You were the one who mucked up!” Fíli says indignantly and Dís laughs before moving to hug him tightly and leaving Kíli to go to Tauriel.

“I am your mother, do you honestly believe I can’t turn anything into some kind of lesson?”

Thorin clears his throat, drawing all eyes to him. His fist clenches in the folds of his cloak. “I fear I must leave you all for the time being.”

“Already?” Dís asks amid the others protests and Thorin nods, backing towards the door.

“I have neglected my duties long enough and it would be rude of me to not to give you time to settle back in. Besides, I am sure you have much to say to one another.”

“Very well.” Dís rolls her eyes. “When will we see you next? For dinner?”

“I will do my best,” he promises and nods to them all once before turning and making it back out to the hall.

Bofur is just opening the door to his compartments and looks up at Thorin in surprise.

The Dwarf looks tired, his hands black. Perhaps he has been down mining, having no family to greet from the caravan. Thorin can’t say for sure, but he meets Bofur’s eyes and feels as if ice water has been dumped over him as his happiness from moments ago evaporates.

Bofur’s surprise fades away to be hidden by a coolness.

“Notice anybody still missing, do you?” He calls out, and just as Thorin opens his mouth to answer, the miner finally opens the door and goes inside, leaving the king standing alone in the hallway.

Another monarch might have him whipped for his impudence, but Thorin only stands frozen before closing his mouth and looking around, regaining his composure before taking a few steps. He’s incredibly grateful no one else had been in the hallway to hear.

A long-fingered hand on his shoulder stops him and turns him around, making his hand immediately reach for Orcrist.

But it is only Tauriel, smiling down at him warmly. “I have come to thank you, sire. Your words to the Lady Dís were very kind and I appreciate them.”

Thorin lets his hand drop, suddenly unsure what to say. He clears his throat, uncomfortable. “Oh. It was nothing. I have no doubt she would have come around without me.”

“Perhaps.” Tauriel agrees, “but the speed with which you helped us is not nothing. You are very kind.”

He splutters, lost at the sudden compliment. Only a while ago she had been asking him to be kinder to Kíli and now she was thanking him for knocking some sense into his own sister.

“You are both welcome.” He hesitates. “Your conversation with her went well?”

“Very.” Tauriel takes a couple of steps back, smile still there. “I was not wrong in thinking she would be an exceptional person. I like her very much.”

“Good. Yes. I am happy for you all.” He nods. “If that was all?”

“Yes.” She ducks her head slightly. “Thank you sire.”

“Thorin, Tauriel, honestly.” He mutters before he can think not to, but nods all the same and turns away. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

“And you!”

He keeps walking, hearing the door close behind the Elf just as he makes it to the stairs.

Thorin spends the rest of the afternoon down with the new arrivals helping sort everything out. The sudden influx of Dwarves, animals, and other furniture and materials had been prepared for, but directing it all is no mere task. Once he has effectively discouraged everybody he passes from bowing and stammering their thanks, things began to move more swiftly. He ignores the dazed looks he receives and helps unload a cart of books alongside Ori who chats happily away the entire time.

Soon he is helping lead people to the living quarters or putting out food and water for the exhausted animals. More than once he is stopped and asked to tell his tale, only for one of Dáin’s army to come and stand imposingly beside him to silently warn the distracting Dwarves off.

He nods to the Dwarrowdam and she shoots him a playful grin back. “Need a bodyguard there, sire?”

“I should be alright. Though if I do have call for one I will ask for you.” He replies and her smile dims only slightly before she dips her red-haired head before they go their separate ways.

The day goes quickly. He’s been on his feet since he woke up, and by the time night falls he feels the exhaustion creeping in and wearing him down. He had shed his cloak in Kíli’s living room and as he makes his way back up the stairs he considers going to get it.

But it is still summer, and though the weather will turn soon, today is not that day. Full from the bits of food he’s been offered all day and the meals being passed around, all Thorin really wants is a moment for himself.

Because while today has been one of the happiest days he’s had in a long time, he will never escape the shadow of Bilbo and the space where the Hobbit should have been at his side through it all. He’s tired from talking to people he doesn’t know; and where before this quest he’d thought he would appreciate their gratitude and thanks, he has grown more and more uncomfortable with each bit of praise.

He makes it out on the mountainside and breathes deeply, hearing the waterfall of Ravenhill and watching as the sun set and is cut in half by the horizon. Oranges and reds streak the sky and Thorin feels like himself for the first time since waking up this morning.

He has never liked speaking with strangers. As he is sure most people who knows him were aware, socializing is not in his skillset and he has never claimed it was. More often than not he comes off as abrupt and harsh when he only tried to be honest and practical. He is thought of as gloomy and dour while trying to avoid speaking over and overpowering those around him.

Today has been more than merely speaking to people whose faces he dimly recognized. No, the worst part had been the praise, making him uncomfortable and feeling as if his skin was crawling. The amount of times he had been asked to recount the journey of the Company and the Battle was too many to count, and each time Thorin had deflected in the best way he could before making a quick escape.

He had liked hearing about the Dwarves returning home, and watching children run around in excitement, already exploring every nook they could. Thorin liked to be with the animals and he was comfortable with Balin or Dáin or Ori. With those he knew.

What has made him begin thinking of Bilbo today he couldn’t say. Perhaps it had been as he looked around at the sea of faces and thought the Hobbit would be wonderful in a setting like this, and even if Bilbo was not, then at least Thorin would not be so alone. Maybe he had been pining since Bilbo had been brought up with Dís and lamented that two people so important to him will never meet.

If Thorin is being honest he has probably been thinking of Bilbo since he first woke up this morning.

Months have passed and Thorin still stayed the same. The hole in him grows, worn away slowly, chip by chip, bit by bit, every time he looks at Kíli with Tauriel, or at a member of the Company. If he happens to glance at the empty space of the Arkenstone, or run into Bofur, or watch his own sister return home and wonder what she would think of his Hobbit, Thorin feels the absence, and he feels the wound grow.

The worst part is that it is all his fault. There is no enemy to fight here, no journey to take to overcome this. Bilbo is his One, Thorin knows it in his marrow, and without him he is forever hollow.

Like always, he stops wandering when he reaches the middle of the orchard. His newest bench is here, facing the empty bit of grass and he sits down, staring at the place he knows needed to be filled.

He has been meaning to ask Dís all day but there had been more pressing concerns. Thorin’s request can wait even though it has been on his mind since she first arrived.

The soft sound of grass beneath boots makes him look over and he notices that the sun has set completely without him realizing.

“They said if I would find you anywhere it would be here.” Dís is looking around curiously, noting the spindly trees that barely reach her shoulders. “What in the world is this?”

Thorin will not say it so soon after she has just arrived home, but he desperately wishes his sister would leave. “An orchard.”

She rolls her eyes as she comes and plops down to sit beside him, either ignoring his standoffishness or not noticing it.

“Obviously. Would you tell me why my boys say you’ve been spending any spare minute out here? Or why you built it in the first place? Apparently it is some big secret.”

Thorin ignores her. “The letter I sent you months ago, asking for something. Did you do it?”

She stares at him curiously before shaking her head and reaching into a pocket. “Funny. I remembered earlier and thought I might need this when I found you. Here.”

She pulls out her hand and opens her palm flat. There in the moonlight it sits, innocent and small as it rests on her skin, rolling ever so slightly.

An acorn. Large and perfect and taken from Beorn’s garden.

“You’re lucky,” Dís says as he stares. “More than a few of our carts had broken wheels in the mud from a heavy rain two days before we reached his home. It was easy to ride ahead and visit to ask for this when they were being fixed. Right time of year for it too.”

Finally Thorin takes it, fingers reaching out to pluck it slowly from her. He holds it in his own hand, lost in memories. “Thank you.”

Dís clears her throat. “Nice guy, Beorn. Bit grumpy, but I’m used to that what with growing up with you.” A pause. He says nothing. “Any particular reason you wanted an acorn from his garden _nadad_?”

“He was a valuable help on our journey.”

It is not a lie, but it is not an answer to her question either.

Dís seems to know that. “Thorin.”

He looks up, meeting her eyes and seeing the worry there clearly. For somebody who is usually so collected, Dís is showing her hand today, more than once.

Thorin supposes he can’t blame her. He has been just as careless with his emotions and he does not have the excuse of a long overdue homecoming to blame.

“The boys have told me everything you did not.” Her eyes search him. “They say you have been distant and unhappy. Fíli said you barely cared when the Arkenstone disappeared and Kíli said- he said that you told the boys that you loved the Hobbit only to take it back later.”

Thorin curls his fingers around the seed he holds. “What are you asking me, Dís?”

“Dáin told me you announced to the council you had planned to marry the Halfling and then suddenly a week later it was never spoken of again and Bilbo left to go home. After you had asked him to leave.” She never looks away from him. “You have built this garden and asked for this acorn to plant in its center, and Thorin I must ask-”

His heart clenches.

“-did you fall in love with Beorn on your way here?”

He stares at her.

“ _What_?”

His mind is honestly struggling to process what she has just asked him, and how in Arda she has reached this conclusion when she has just finished recounting his history with Bilbo. Everything she just said should point to the correct conclusion and yet she asks him about Beorn?

Her face turns sympathetic. “You can confide in me, I promise. I know I behaved horribly earlier with Kíli and Tauriel, but I also know I was wrong now as well. Mahal does not seem to care which species he pairs us with. I would listen to you.”

“Dís,” he tries to stop her. “I am not in love with Beorn.”

The mere idea- he thinks he can count on one hand the number of times he’s spoken with Beorn. Mahal, he’s conversed with Thranduil more!

“There is no need to lie.” She keeps speaking. “It is the only thing that makes sense.”

“How?” He splutters, still unable to believe he isn’t dreaming this conversation.

“You asked me for this acorn, taken from his own garden and given by him freely. He was quite closed off when speaking of you and wouldn’t say much. Guarding his own heart, I suspect. You stayed at his home for quite some time before moving on, longer than you needed to as none of the Company was injured at the time, yet he had little to say about you. Is that not strange? Furthermore, he came to help you in the Battle of Five Armies.” Her eyes search his. “I assume afterwards you tried to move on with the Hobbit Master Baggins, but no matter what you told yourself or others you could not live a lie, and so gave up the farce, breaking the Burglar’s heart and making him leave. It could not have been the Halfling, for if he was your One you would not bear to have him gone; and you would not have sent him away for nothing.”

She looks incredibly proud of herself for having worked everything out and Thorin would be laughing outrageously if he was not to horrified at how terribly wrong this whole thing is.

Except for the part about him breaking Bilbo’s heart. In that she is, of course, entirely accurate.

“You believe that I have built this garden to plant Beorn’s acorn and remember him?” Thorin asks her and Dís nods.

“It is a lovely gesture.” She tells him and Thorin has to look away. “And the only thing that makes sense. I saw the Arkenstone with Master Baggins.”

Thorin freezes. The simple way she says it makes his heart hammer.

“You gave it to him, did you not?”

Their eyes meet. She misses nothing in his expression.

“Would you like to know what I think?”

He can’t find the strength to respond.

“I think you gave the stone to him to ease your guilt at breaking his heart. Why you chose such a valuable jewel I could not have said until I arrived and learned he had claimed it as his fourteenth share of the treasure. You were only paying him back for all he had done for us by giving him what he wanted.”

Thorin swallows. “Bilbo gave his share to the men of Dale to rebuild their homes. His contract is paid.”

His sister pulls away. “Then why on all of Middle-Earth would you give him our Arkenstone?”

Thorin clenches his fingers and doesn’t answer. “How did you see it?”

Her face softens. “He tried to give it back to me.”

Thorin’s neck nearly hurt from him lifting his head so quickly. “He what?”

“Yes.” She nods. “He wanted it returned here, to you.”

There is nothing Thorin can do but stare at her, hoping the turmoil inside of him is hidden well enough so as not to raise questions.

Her face softens. “I suspect I know why you gave it away.”

“Why?” His voice is a croak.

“You could not move past Beorn.” Her eyes fall to the acorn in his fist. “But you tried. When you realized you could not give the Hobbit what he deserved, you ended things between the two of you. Yet you felt guilty for using him in such a way and gave him your portion of the treasure as recompense. Am I close?”

He doesn’t answer and she lets out an impatient noise, eyes flicking down to the acorn in his hand. “You having feelings for Beorn is the only thing I can think of that would explain this request of yours.”

His heart is hammering away like mad in his chest and it takes a few seconds before he manages to ask. “How can I convince you that everything you have said is false?”

“Oh, Thorin.” She misreads his tone entirely. “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me. You were there for me when Víli passed and I will be here for you in turn.”

“No, Dís-”

“Heartbreak is not easy for our species as you well know. But we are strong and we are of Durin’s line. We will not let grief or rejection cloud the rest of our lives.” She smiles a bit, obviously trying to lighten the pall that has fallen around the two of them. “He is quite something to see, I will admit. If not for all of that fur I could understand the allure.”

“Dís stop.” He cuts her off urgently, trying to make her see and stop this mad idea before it gets even more out of hand. “I was never in love with Beorn.”

She frowns. “You were not?”

“No, of course not!”

Still his sister doesn’t seem convinced. “What other explanation can there be for the acorn?”

There are many things Thorin will share with his sister but not that. Never that. “It is merely a reminder.”

Partial truths are becoming his first answer to everything these days.

“Of what?”

“It’s personal, Dís.”

“Personal?” She scoffs. “Please. You have never allowed me a secret in my entire life, why should I not return the favor?”

“That was for your safety!”

“Then so is this. What is the acorn for Thorin?”

“Leave it.”

“Thorin.”

“I mean it.”

Something must convince her because she stops, mouth still open before looking away. “Very well. For now. But then if you did not love Beorn why have you been behaving as if you’ve had your heart broken?” She hesitates. “ _Was_ it your relationship with the Hobbit?”

Thorin’s teeth clench as he lies through them. “No.”

“Then what? Why enter a relationship with Mr. Baggins at all, if not to distract yourself from a broken heart?”

“Fine,” Thorin snaps, sick of this conversation and everything else. He is too overwhelmed with the bombshells Dís has dropped on him regarding meeting Bilbo and her assumption about him and Beorn to bother hiding his frustration. It is because of this he does not pay as much attention to her words as he should.

Dis blinks at his harsh tone but doesn’t interrupt him.

“Fine. You’re right, it was him. Can we stop talking about this?”

But Thorin is still caught on her earlier question regarding Bilbo and doesn’t realize what she’s just said after until it is too late. Instead of admitting the truth, that Bilbo is the reason for his brooding and grief, to Dís it seems like he is in fact saying he has tried to move on from a failed relationship with Beorn.

Even as he hurries to rectify his mistake by clarifying, “wait, Dís, no,” she’s no longer listening enough to believe him, eyes wide and surprise across her face even though she had been the one pushing this ridiculous story in the first place.

“I knew it.” She reaches for the hand not holding the acorn. “Oh, Thorin I am so sorry.”

“Dís no, I meant-”

“Just like you to clam up as soon as you give an inch.” She shakes her head. “Now I see why you support Tauriel and Kíli’s union so strongly. It’s because you can not have your own.”

“Listen to me.” He squeezes her hands and holds her attention. “You are wrong.”

She hears him but it makes no difference. “Oh, _nadad_. You are in so much pain. I see it clearly.”

He swallows. “Maybe so. But you are mistaken in thinking Beorn has caused it.”

“You are trying to hide it.” She pulls her hands away and cups his face with one palm instead. “I understand the feeling of being unable to share heartbreak, Thorin. You think I will not understand and that nothing will help. But talking to me or anybody else, it will ease that agony.”

“Dís.” He whispers, covering her hand with his free one. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t Beorn.”

She nods and he sees the disappointment in her expression as she lets her hand drop and stands.

“I understand. You have my word that I will not mention this to anybody else, but when you do feel ready to talk, I will be here for you, Thorin, always. I love you. You’re not alone.”

He’s speechless as she turns and leaves. Left there sitting on the bench alone with the acorn still in his hand Thorin knows he has just made another mistake. One that could prove dangerous if it gets out of hand.

His eyes fall and he looks at the acorn again.

His brain is screaming at him to run after his sister and tell her the truth, to stop the idea she now has from growing. If the story of him falling in love with Beorn gets out, even as a rumour, it could prove dangerous. He has already had to quell the idea that he had loved Bilbo, and Thorin knows that false rumours are often harder to discourage than true ones.

It is unlikely that Dís will tell anybody else, except perhaps for Balin, and Thorin grits his teeth as he wonders what to do. He knows he should tell Dís the truth. He is king and needs to take responsibility. And it is the least he owes to Bilbo, surely, to be honest about what they were to at least one person.

But he also knows his sister. She will be disappointed in him and will never allow him to go on living the lie he is. Dís would send for Bilbo and if he came back… Thorin doesn’t know what he would do.

He remembers Hugin’s words and his resolve hardens. No, Bilbo cannot return. Nothing has changed, Thorin is still in the same position. An abdication would cause chaos and the marriage he desires would do the same.

Even if he tells Dís the truth would she believe him? A Dwarf sending their One away was unheard of. Many believed a Dwarf could not do it. It was a different animal than grief, it was chosen heartbreak, a betrayal of a Dwarf’s deeply possessive nature by hurting the One you love most and driving them away.

At least grief was caused by unintentional abandonment. What Thorin has knowingly done here… it goes against a Dwarf’s very being.

Would it be safer to allow Dís to carry on believing this lie? If she doesn’t say anything to anybody else and never brings it up again they could all carry on as they were now.

It is not ideal but it is easier. At least for Thorin. And Thorin is tired.

He takes a breath and gets up, decision made. Walking forward he places the acorn carefully, letting it rest on top of the grass. Then he goes and grabs his spade by the flower beds and digs up a small patch, turning over the soil before dropping the seed into the dark dirt.

Thorin does not know whether it will grow. This entire orchard has been a shot in the dark and he is surprised anything has survived in the months they’ve been planted.

In a few months or so the snow will come, always quicker to fall on the mountain. The frost will dig into the ground, freezing the roots and the water in the trees if they do not protect themselves. A book Thorin has read had called this dormancy, where a tree kept its water from freezing and keeps itself alive in the cold months.

Swallowing he stares at the new spot of soil. He hopes it will grow. It is the only thing left he allows himself to want, for this tree to shoot out roots and rise high into the sky. As high as those of Beorn’s garden with huge acorns weighing down its branches.

The Dwarf spends a long time out there kneeling on the ground. Memories overtake him one by one, like the waves breaking on a beach. Each take their time coming upon him, and once they are exhausted they recede slowly, leaving traces behind.

_I thought when I go back I could plant it in my garden._

_Go back?_

_For my things._

Understanding had filled Thorin, fighting through the Dragon sickness _. A poor prize to take back to the Shire._

_One day it will grow. And every time I think of it, I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad. And I’ll think of how lucky I am that we all survived and made it home._

As he stands out in the orchard that night he looks at the small heap of dirt in front of him, hiding the newly planted acorn. And all the while he remembers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to unforseen circumstances, it looks like I won't have reliable access to my computer for the rest of the week, so I've decided to go ahead and post this chapter today instead of tomorrow! Hurrah.
> 
> Get ready for a more in-depth look at Ereborean politics, we've reached Thorin's coronation. Ignore any inaccuracies or unrealistic aspects and focus on the drama of it all instead... 
> 
> Adad- father  
> Bâheluh- friend of all friends  
> Melhekhel- King of (all) kings  
> Ugmil ’adad- grandfather

He is woken by his servant knocking on his bedroom door and bearing a breakfast tray. Bombur’s hard work is lying on a plate, thick slabs of bread covered in honey and chopped nuts. Caan is quiet, speaking only when spoken to and Thorin sends him away with the empty tray quickly, as usual. Though many members of the royal house preferred to be dressed by their servants as well, Thorin has never been fond of the practice. As long as Caan tidies his rooms a bit and keeps his armor in good nick when Thorin doesn’t have the time, he is happy. 

Perhaps today of all days he should have made use of the expected service, however. Though he supposes it makes no difference what he wears to greet the many Dwarves who will bring his official coronation clothing to his rooms.

He finds himself staring up at the canopy of his bed, lost in thought of the day ahead. Not only is he to be officially crowned today in front of the lord and ladies of Erebor, but so is Fíli as his heir and Kíli as a crowned prince, and Dís as the kingdom’s princess. Tonight there is to be a feast held in honor of the Company, and though the coronation is to be witnessed by Dwarves only because of the secret customs of their people, the feast holds open invitations to important political allies throughout Middle Earth.

Dwarves from the Grey Mountains have made the journey. Many visiting officials from the Blue Mountains had come with Dís’ caravan, and Daín and his company are here as dignitaries from the Iron Hills. After today’s events they will finally go home after spending nearly a year at Erebor.

The Dwarven kingdom is full of high-ranking Dwarves, each of whom Thorin has met with briefly. He received their thanks for his courage and bravery on the journey and made them welcome in Erebor, all the while remembering these same officials had been the ones to reject his requests for aid for his people and to reclaim his homeland.

Thorin is a dignitary yes, but he is also a poor liar. The leftover hostility, now muted and useless, is still apparent to those he spoke with, and it made him feel a bit smug to see how their eyes had widened in fear, and the shame that had crossed their faces.

It is not only Dwarves who will come. There has been no way to avoid inviting Thranduil and his host; and, surprising everybody, the King of Mirkwood has accepted.

Thankfully Thranduil will spend the week he is visiting in Dale before leaving again.

Thankfully.

The Elves will arrive today and Thorin hopes that he will have no reason to see them again before they leave.

A few of the Men will be appearing tonight as well. Bard, a newly made king himself, and his children. A few other Men and Women of high rank. Most likely merchants who have prospered in the new kingdom of Dale and managed to establish themselves.

The new Master of Lake-town will also come, though the rebuilt community is much smaller than it had been before Thorin had brought his Company through. It is mostly full of fishermen and their families, or visiting traders.

Luckily only the Dwarves have to be put up by Erebor. Not that they don’t have the room, but Thorin prefers not to have the Elves sleeping under his roof if he can avoid it. Dale’s convenient location will likely save him many headaches and arguments with the Elven King.

And his prattish son of a prince.

But enough of that. Dealing with them will come later. Now Thorin has to get up and venture out of his bedroom to where there is doubtless a small army of Dwarves in his living quarters.

First he decides to run himself a bath.

Falling into the steaming water is bliss and he gratefully dunks his head under, allowing his mind to clear. He isn’t nervous at all, though he wonders if he should be. He’s been running Erebor for most of the year and has already been crowned by Balin. This is just the pomp and whims of others in charge who want to send a clear message.

Erebor may be recently reclaimed but they are by no means weak. The treasure in their halls has been reclaimed and the kingdom is on the path to surpass its former glory, at least if Thorin has anything to say about it. He is in his prime, he has two male heirs secured and countless other relations should the worst happen.

Despite the battle and following winter there is food enough to host Dwarves, Elves and Men in a feast, and enough security to host whoever will come along.

Crops have grown, vegetation has been scoured, and hunting has gone well. Smaug had rarely ventured from the mountain to hunt, preferring to spend most of his years in slumber, and the animals have thrived because of it.

Missives of congratulations have come from across Middle Earth. The letter from Lord Elrond had seemed warmer than usual. Thorin had wondered what the cause could possibly have been for that before handing them all to Balin to find somebody else to reply. Perhaps Ori. The young Dwarf enjoyed any chance to come into contact with other cultures.

Over the months there have been skirmishes with Orcs, but all were easily put down. There has been rumours of a Goblin horde making its way east, but Thranduil has reported nothing and so Thorin chalks it up to gossip alone.

Mostly, things are well. Erebor has been in preparations for days. Tailors have been run off of their feet with custom orders for new clothing. Bombur and the other cooks have been stocking up on food and busy in the kitchens for at least two weeks getting meats and other food ready. A shipment of vegetables and other rabbit food has been specially ordered for the Elves, and Bombur hasn’t even grumbled that much about learning how to prepare it.

Fíli is ready, Kíli is ready, Dis is impatient to have it all done with and Daín is looking forward to the drinking tonight. The Company are all present and accounted for- bar one, of course- and more than a few of them uncomfortable with the elaborate heaping of praise upon them.

Thorin doesn’t care. He would rather share their glory than suffer it alone. Besides, it gives him an excuse to get up and talk to them all at dinner tonight rather than spend the entire time making conversation with snooty Elves and hulking Men.

Which reminds him. He doesn’t know the seating arrangements for tonight and at this point he is too afraid to ask. More than likely he will be near Thranduil and Bard at the high table. Even Dwarves know not to slight visiting royalty, especially when they’ve been invited for cordiality’s sake.

There is only one thing that tugs at Thorin’s worry and it is the fact that for the first time since before the Battle he will be covered in his royal regalia.

Until now he has been able to avoid it. Either there has been a lack of official ceremonies or he has allowed the Dwarves to chalk up his simple dress to his years of exile. It is not common knowledge that he had come into the mountain and immediately adorned himself with gold, jewels and other finery, and he prefers to keep it that way. Others can assume he is more comfortable out of the excess wealth, and at this point they would be right. He has no desire to touch anything gold again and even less to wear his grandfather’s old crown.

As always Thorin thinks of Bilbo and he remembers the Hobbit’s disgust at the mountains of coins. His indifference to the gems, even the Arkenstone. The way he had tried so hard to make Thorin see that other people, living beings, were more important and could better fill the places in his heart that Erebor had so thoroughly overtaken.

In the end he has not learned the lesson at all, and still he had chosen his kingdom over all else. Even that which he loves most.

He rises from the tub and dries himself slowly, thinking all the while.

What would Bilbo think of today? Thorin can’t help but wonder. He would enjoy the party, of that he is sure. But what of the rest? Hobbits do not have a monarchy, they are simple folk. Was this display something that would make Bilbo angry? Bored? Or would he see the tradition and appreciate it?

He had never shown a hatred for Thorin’s position- beyond what it allowed the sickness to make him do, of course. Was it really so unlikely that Bilbo could have enjoyed today?

No, Thorin knows. He knows it deep in his core just like he knows he loves the Hobbit dearly and always will. Bilbo would not disparage today, he would take it all in with awe, most like. He would have stood at Thorin’s side and supported him all the while, through every oath and unpleasant conversation with Thranduil.

If things had been different a Consort would also have been crowned today.

Thorin shakes his head, finished combing out his hair and shrugs on a robe before going to meet those outside his bedroom door.

It is an underwhelming crowd to say the least.

There is Dwalin, his hair freshly washed and braided, standing in his newly shined armour. His axe is strapped to his back and his knuckledusters are polished so much that Thorin can see a stray finger smudge from when his old friend nervously fidgets.

Beside Dwalin is Balin, just as presentable as his brother but without any armor. He wears a deep purple tunic, similar to one that Thorin himself has, though where Thorin’s is sewn with silver Balin’s has a deeply wrought gold edging. The old Dwarf smiles at him and Thorin smiles back, relieved at the lack of strange Dwarves in his private rooms.

“The others?” He asks.

“Dís is with the boys getting them into shape.” Dwalin grunts. “Tree hugger is with them.”

Thorin bites back a smile. The insult sounds fond coming off of the warrior’s tongue. “Careful Dwalin, you’re beginning to go a bit soft.”

“Please.” He scoffs. “Once a lettuce eater always a lettuce eater. Though I’ll admit, she can’t help what she was born as, poor lass.”

The king wisely chooses to let it go. He knows Kíli had begged Dwalin to train with Tauriel. Though Thorin is the best sword fighter in Erebor, he is not as well versed in axes as Dwalin. Tauriel had been the same, familiar with a bow and arrow, sword, and knives but not axes, and had requested Dwalin’s help.

As far as Thorin knows the lessons are going astoundingly well and Dwalin has been considerably nicer to Tauriel ever since. Whatever she had done to prove herself to him that first day has worked wonders.

Though of course the newfound appreciation does not extend to the rest of her race.

Balin wisely chooses to steer the conversation in a new direction. “Dori will be dropping off your clothing any minute now and Dís wanted to come once she’d finished with the princes to see you before hand. If we’ve guessed correctly the ceremonies should take up most of the afternoon so I asked Bombur to send up a quick lunch for before we got started.”

“Very well.”

“Might as well do your hair then,” Balin produces a small box seemingly from nowhere. “Your sister thought these might do.”

Thorin knows what he will find before he opens the lid, but it is still a shock to see the familiar beads lying on the red satin cushion inside. Four beads, each different in design.

“Yes,” is all Thorin says.

“Thorin.” He looks up at the serious tone Balin uses and blinks at the intensity of his advisor’s expression. “I don’t wish to be indelicate but there is something I would speak with you about.”

“Name it.”

“We know you picked what you’ll be wearing today,” Balin begins. “And none of us would presume to underestimate you.”

“Spit it out, Balin.” Thorin growls even though he knows full well where this is going.

“How much gold will you be wearing?” Dwalin asks bluntly, making Thorin’s head swing around to him. His posture hasn’t changed but his eyes are tracking Thorin closely and for a second he feels old anger at the conversation.

Has he not shown them all his priorities have changed? Was his reaction to the loss of the Arkenstone not enough?

But then he remembers his words to them in the worst of the Dragon sickness and Thorin can’t fault them for feeling the need to ask.

“Only the crown.” He says softly, making sure to hold each of their eyes. “I will wear nothing else of it.”

“No rings?” Balin presses. “Ear cuffs?”

“Not of gold.” Thorin replies. “And though I hate to charge you with this, I must ask somebody. If either of you see me beginning to act oddly-”

“We’ll do what we must.” Balin assures him. “You need have no fear of that.”

“Whatever it takes.” Thorin says urgently. “Fíli will believe you and Dís should as well, though she has not seen me under the thrall of it.” He meets Dwalin’s eyes. “If I should need restrained…”

“Thorin.” Balin’s eyes go softer than he has ever seen them. “It will not come to that.”

“You must both promise me.”

“I promise.” He looks at Dwalin and his old friend nods without hesitation. “You have my word.”

Balin frowns at his brother but Thorin only feels relief. “Thank you, _bâheluh_.”

Dwalin looks surprised for a moment before he lets out a great sigh. “Come here, you numpty.”

They knock foreheads and Thorin nods. Now that Dwalin knows just how concerned Thorin is about all of this he knows the other Dwarf will truly take the protection of Erebor and its citizens from him seriously.

“Thorin,” Balin interrupts them gently which is probably for the best. He’s not accustomed to sharing this much emotion with Dwalin. They’re both uncomfortable with conversations such as this. “You are not worried because you suspect you will succumb to the disease again?”

“You are asking if I have felt any sign of it lately?”

Balin nods.

“No. No, I am merely preparing should it happen. I will not allow myself to be caught unawares again. Especially now that Erebor has begun to flourish once more. To repeat now what happened to Thrór would cripple us all over again.”

 _I am not my grandfather_ , is what he does not say.

“Very well, _melhekhel_.” Balin bows and Thorin blinks in shock at the compliment. He goes to protest the title, but Balin speaks again before he is able. “I will leave you. There are things I would like to check on.” He sighs and shoot Thorin a smile. “I fear I will not relax until every visitor has left our halls.”

Thorin nods back. “Nor I.”

“Ah, well. That’s the price of it all, isn’t it?” He asks, and only when Thorin’s face clouds does Balin realize his mistake. Dwalin, usually uninterested in the plights of others looks between their two pained faces in obvious question.

“You have my leave.” Thorin says, his voice a bit too quiet and Balin nods, slipping quietly away after sharing one last significant look with his brother.

“What was that?” Dwalin asks skeptically only a second later and Thorin shrugs before turning to make his way back to his bedroom, box of hair beads firmly clasped in his hands.

“What was what?”

A short pause follows before Dwalin huffs. “Forget it. I’ll just wait out here.”

“If you wish.” Thorin says before closing the door behind him and sitting at the vanity mirror and picking up a brush.

The braids are ones he had been taught as a childhood and he weaves them quickly. One hangs from the side of his head to mark his triumph at the battle of Azanulbizar. He holds the ends of the braid between two fingers as he reaches into the box and slowly withdraws an old hair bead of Frerin’s. Holding it up to the light he sees light shining through the black sapphire, and as he rubssees his thumb over it he saw three droplet emeralds, the size of the tip of a needle, in a neat vertical line. Very faintly, rubbed away from years of being touched, is a carving of their family line’s emblem; seven stars over a crossed pair of battle axes and an anvil.

Carefully he clips it on.

The next braid is on the other side of his head and is also a braid of victory. But this time it represents victory here at Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies.

To go on the end of that braid is a bead with a ruby. It is lined with diamonds on the curved top and bottom, two parallel circles of the small stones. It had been given to his grandfather King Thrór by his grandmother, Queen Hela. Thorin remembers vaguely watching his grandparents together, the careful way his _Ugmil ’adad_ would cup her cheek when they managed to sneak a private moment from the rest of them all. Or how Hela would interrupt council meetings and public pleas and stride right up to his grandfather, uncaring of who was there and daring anybody to try and stop her, as she would lean down to whisper in his ear.

It had always, without fail, made his grandfather burst into a wide smile as a glint entered his eye and she innocently left moments later. And had never failed to liven up a particularly boring council meeting or a torturous talk with visiting Elves.

Thorin’s hands fall into his lap as he stares into the mirror. It was only after his grandmother’s death that Thrór had fallen deeply into the gold sickness. Erebor had mourned for weeks, and by the end of it, Thrór had rarely come away from the treasury or out of sight of the Arkenstone.

Thorin puts it on quickly and then gathers a few small strands at his temple. This braid is to show his coming of age years ago and is one he clips with Mother’s bead.

It is completely wooden but on it, etched in the tiniest detail possible, is the creation of the Dwarves under Mahal. It shows the story of the creation of their original seven, and how those seven Dwarves were put in the earth to rest for the birth of the Elves. The tale ends with Mahal releasing them from the stone to which they will always return. The bead is made of smooth light wood with the two ends rounded.

Thorin can remember taking it out of his mother’s hair to practice braiding when he was a child.

His heart aches. Smaug had killed many people close to Thorin when he had taken Erebor from them all, but none who had been missed so much as his mother, Princess Nara. She had not lived long enough to become his father’s queen.

Thráin. Thorin has not seen his father in so long and from what Gandalf has told him the older Dwarf is likely long dead.

A small and ugly part of Thorin still resents the Wizard for being unable to save him from the grasp of Sauron. The fact that Gandalf had been able to take the map and bring it to Thorin had been a miracle in itself, but Thorin will always grieve the loss of his father. To know that Thráin died alone, in the midst of torture, all for the sake of a ring is something that will haunt Thorin for the rest of his days.

He shakes his head, mind returning to the task at hand. After finishing another braid in front of his other ear he brings out old bead of his father’s, made of pure mithril with veins of amethyst. Across the bead is the sign of Durin again, this time painted with liquid gold.

There is only one braid left to do and that was not to be braided by his hand, but his sisters, during the coronation. One thick braid made from the uppermost portion of his hair pulling it back to begin the thick plait at the center of the back of his head. For that braid there is the King’s Bead, made from a shard of the Arkenstone edged in sky blue topaz. The colours of Durin’s line.

The king looks at himself in his mirror. He looks good, he thinks. No injuries, well rested, well fed. Physically he is everything anybody could ask for in a king.

It is his eyes, he realizes as he stares at the reflection. They are what look wrong. Dull and tired, he stares at the blueness and tries to find some glimmer of excitement. Pride, happiness, anything.

“Oi! Dori is here with your royal joker’s costume!” Dwalin bangs on the door loudly and Thorin rolls his eyes, pushing away from the stool just as Dori bustles in with a number of garments lying over his arms.

“Right then,” the strong Dwarf announces happily, taking him in quickly with a smile. “Ready?”

“As ever.” Thorin replies and the two of them get to work.

* * *

By the time lunch rolls around and Bombur shows up Thorin’s nephews have come and gone with Tauriel and Dis has arrived to stay. She’d circled him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed but it seemed Dori’s standards met her own because she’d nodded in satisfaction.

“Perfect,” she told the room and Dori had nodded at her.

Thorin takes her in- green dress embroidered in black overlaid with a white shawl- light hair and beard braided and clasped in matching beads.

“You look lovely sister.” Thorin says and Dis had smiled, reaching out to clasp his arm, her golden bracelets jingling.

Thorin feels Dwalin shift behind him and he tenses as well, waiting for the whispers in his mind or spark of greed to flare. When nothing happens he only grits his teeth.

Constant vigilance will be his mantra for the day.

“You look like _Ugmil ’adad_.” Dís says back to him. She is quiet, voice hushed in remembrance and Thorin squeezes her hand one last time before letting go. A diamond necklace glints off a flicker of his fireplace.

Dwalin snorts. “He looks ridiculous.”

Both siblings shoot him identical glares, making him blink. Thorin smirks as he sees discomfort flit across his friend’s face.

“He looks regal.” Dís shoots at him.

“He looks like a royal arse.”

“Like a king.” Thorin’s words silence them both. His heavy cloak is held together over his chest by a chain of silver. Underneath his tunic of Durin’s colours, his belt is dark as are his boots and his trousers are a light crème.

He knows Dís is right and he looks just as he should, but it doesn’t make him feel better. He can feel the weight on his fingers where rings are meant to be, and on his brow where the golden crown will eventually sit.

Spectators will talk. Thorin has no illusions about that. There is no doubt that when he walks out in front of his people that the people of Erebor will notice right away the lack of ornamentation. Perhaps there will be whispers. It is a surety that word of his gold sickness has circled by now, as both Bard and Thranduil had known. Men and Elves have loose tongues no matter what they may say. The lack of the King’s Jewel and an overt display of wealth is unusual for a coronation of Erebor. Thorin only hopes it can be explained away by the events of the past year.

If there is one thing he has gotten lucky in, it is that the royal insignia ring of his family is made of polished stone rather than gold. It is usually only used to seal Thorin’s documents, but today countless Dwarves will kneel at his feet and kiss the ring in oaths of fealty.

It is an old custom yes, but tradition is powerful to Dwarves.

As the others in Thorin’s rooms wait they fall to talking. Dori and Dís sits to catch up as Dwalin stands quietly. Thorin is by the fire staring into the flames and lost in thought. The heat of the cloak and fire may have bothered a Human or any other race but Dwarves are accustomed to the heat of a forge- this is nothing.

“There is talk of placing a statue in the entrance hall,” Dís says, catching her brother’s attention. Thorin turns to listen. “A popular idea is to make a replica of Smaug and his defeat.”

Thorin frowns and interjects before Dori or Dwalin can reply. “It was Bard who slayed the Dragon. That glory does not belong to us.”

Dori looks between them. “It could serve as a warning to others perhaps?”

“I believe that was the idea,” Dís says. “A symbol of the perseverance of Durin’s line and Erebor.”

“No.”

She sighs. “Another idea was one of you, Thorin-”

“No.”

His sister frowns. “You have not even let me finish.”

“It does not matter. I want no statue.”

“Well what would you suggest?”

“I have no suggestions,” Thorin says and turns away again. “But I will refuse both proposals of that nature.”

He has no doubt that once he dies, whenever that may be, there might be statues or murals built and carved of him. The Company’s quest is already being written into songs and told to Dwarflings at night if what he has been told was the truth. But he has no desire to see himself every time he leaves and enters Erebor, nor does he want it to be the first thing that greets visitors. He has learned well the fault of pride and possessiveness.

Imagining what Thranduil alone would say makes him know it would be unbearable. The disdain that the Elf would have for such a display was a feeling Thorin now shares. He remembers the statue of the Elf King’s late wife at the entrance to Mirkwood and feels his resolve grow firmer.

No. He will accept the accolades for the quest for the sake of the Company and making sure they are equally recognized, but he will leave the glory of praising his kingship to others once he has returned to Mahal’s Hall. Who knows, he may have cocked it all up well before his death and none may want to remember him. Anything could happen.

Bombur’s appearance cut the discussion short. The Dwarf bumbles in holding aloft a tray laden with sandwiches of meat and cheeses and cups of mead or ale.

“Thank Eru,” Dwalin exclaims and quickly snatches up three of the sandwiches for himself before retreating back to lean against the wall.

“Something light enough for the feast later tonight,” Bombur whispers to Thorin as they eat side by side, across from Dori and Dís. “But not messy. You look good.”

Ah Bombur. Straight to the point as always. Thorin appreciates that about him.

“As do you my friend. I hope you have not overtaxed yourself for tonight?”

“Not at all.” The Dwarf smiles widely and takes another of his sandwiches. “It’s the first time we’ve cooked for such a large host after getting the kitchens back up to snuff. I’m right pleased.”

“As I’m sure we all will be.”

Bombur’s eyes twinkle. “I’ve made something special for tonight.”

“Oh?”

“In celebration of the Company. All of us.”

Thorin smiles. “A cake or some such I suppose?”

“It’s a surprise. But we’ll enjoy it.”

“As long as its not stew or biscuits I’ll be happy. I had enough of both on our journey.”

“No, I quite agree with you.”

Thorin nods. “Well in case I don’t get the chance later, thank you Bombur. Truly you do exceptional work.”

“Thank you, Thorin.” It has taken many months for Thorin to get the Company to call him by his name but he’s glad they no longer need to argue about it. Bombur’s face is red enough to match his beard and he looks down shyly.

Suddenly Dori exclaims, “I’d best make sure Nori and Ori are ready! My Lady, Thorin,” he nods at them before hurrying out of there.

Dís laughs and Thorin shakes his head.

“I need to help Fila see to the wee ones.” Bombur rumbles and hoists himself out of the chair with Dwalin’s help. “Six is too many to keep in line, I tell you.”

“I struggle with my two, so I can only imagine.” Dís says and he shoots her a smile.

“My Lady,” he bows to her. “Your Majesty.”

Thorin opens his mouth but closes it at Bombur’s wink. “Best to be proper today, yes?”

“I suppose.” Thorin sighs and Dwalin grumbles behind him.

“Load of rubbish.”

The king doesn’t necessarily disagree.

“It is tradition.” Dís reminds them both as Bombur leaves, his laughter ringing behind him.

“Stupidity is what it is.”

“Oh Dwalin.” She turns from the guard in exasperation to take Thorin’s arm. “Ready, brother of mine?”

“As ever.”

“Listen to you both, you’d think we were leading you to some Elvish party. Quit complaining, the two of you and stand up straight, Thorin. Mahal, if Mother could see you now.”

He straightens automatically and ignores the grin he knows is bound to be on Dwalin’s face as they leave his rooms.

He expects them to get to Durin’s Hall in silence but it seems his sister has other plans.

“Your beard,” Dís starts after the guards have joined them. “Why are you not allowing it to grow out? You are not shamed now, Thorin, and though you have more reason than most to mourn I believe _Adad_ and Frerin would not begrudge you that.”

Thorin stops. There is no way to tell her that he keeps his beard trimmed because he is still ashamed. No longer for the loss of Erebor, but the loss of someone far more precious.

His lie is paltry as he begins to walk again. “I keep it short for the Dwarves lost in the Battle of Five Armies.”

Dís blinks in surprise. “Why would you do that?”

“If I had not waited so long to join them many may have lived.” Thorin does still feel guilt from that and so he lets it show. “My sickness and my weakness condemned them to death. I will have to bear that for the rest of my life.”

“But…” She hesitates and seems to decide fighting him would result in nothing. Instead she asks, “you cannot say you will never grow it?”

He pauses. Deep in his heart of hearts Thorin knows he will keep it shaved for the rest of his life, or as long as Bilbo isn’t by his side. Though he supposes they are the same thing.

But Dís will not want to hear that. It is most unusual for their kind to bear shame in such a public way.

Thorin can think of no better way to show his disgrace. If others cannot know the true reason, that is fine. Perhaps better. But he cannot pretend he is proud of himself or that he has no regrets.

His sister is still waiting for an answer and he clears his throat. “I would not say never. But for now it will remain as it is and I will hear nothing else about it.”

Again there is a moment where it looks like she will protest, but in the end she keeps her thoughts to herself, and they make it to the throne room in silence.

It is not the throne on the walkways near the nobility’s chambers that is to be used for the coronation. No that is for private audiences and would never hold enough people.

This chamber is one of the largest in Erebor. Built to hold hundreds of folk with the ostentatious throne near the far end. Where the private throne is made of stone to heighten the impressiveness of the Arkenstone, which usually sat in its back, this chair is ornate and built to show off Erebor’s glory.

It is carved from diamond and backed with purple cushions. Edged with sapphires and rubies, it is a clear display of not only the wealth of Erebor, but the craft of Dwarves. The chair is high-backed and the perfect height for Thorin.

When there are great announcements to be made the ruler of Erebor will do so from here in this room. Petitioners used to kneel at King Thrór’s feet at the bottom of the wide steps leading down from the throne’s dais and plead their case here before the Arkenstone was discovered. This chamber can hold dances or feasts and has been used for both many times.

It is not wasted, this hall. Lined with tapestries of Dwarven history and myth it’s gloriously lit. The statue of Durin stands tall and proud over them all, watching throughout the years as the furnishings have changed, and tables and chairs have come and gone. Throughout it all only the statue and throne have not moved.

Dís splits away from him, as do the guards to stand at their stations. Dwalin takes Dís to sit in the front of the many rows set up before the throne.

Fíli and Kíli appear as if from nowhere and Thorin takes in the sight of them. Dressed in their royal regalia, both of his nephews are striking in their dark blue doublets. Their swords hang at their hips and thin golden circlets rest on their brows.

They look regal. Thorin is prouder of them now than he has ever been.

“Good luck Uncle.” Kíli whispers as they move to stand behind him.

“Don’t be scared to mess up. Kíli’s already done it more than enough today.”

“Oi!”

It is with a smile that Thorin hears the trumpets and horns sound. The scraping of benches and chairs sound against the stone floors as the Dwarves stand. Merchants of Erebor who have managed to slip in and find a spot, nobility and their entourages, the Company in the front row, they all fill the huge room. Thorin walks the aisle to the sound of music and deafening cheers with his nephews behind him.

And he smiles. It is small and almost hidden, but those who know him well can see it. He meets Balin’s eyes, taking in his old friend standing up at the throne with a young Dwarf holding the crown on a cushion beside him.

Balin is crying.

The walk seems to take an age but soon Thorin has made it past the Company, Dís and Tauriel. He accepts their smiles and nods with a nod of his own. Even Bofur is grinning but when Thorin looks beside him he sees an empty chair. For a moment he frowns in confusion before meeting the miner’s eyes once more and understanding dawns. It is a single seat, saved for one not present. Perhaps where a Hobbit could have sat.

He turns his head away and climbs the steps up to Balin, eyes flicking to the throne before stopping once more on the old Dwarf.

His cloak covers the ground behind him in a wide arc and he feels Fíli and Kíli settle at its edges behind him. There the three heirs of Durin stand proudly, backs to the hushed crowd, and they watch as Balin comes to stand between the throne and Thorin.

“Kneel, Thorin II, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain.”

Balin’s voice is loud but Thorin wonders if it is enough to reach the Dwarves at the doors. There are no whispers, no one even seems to move their feet, and it is like the room has taken a collective breath and are now holding it until the ceremony is over.

Thorin kneels.

“You have reclaimed Erebor.” Balin calls out in Khuzdûl and Thorin stares down in front of him, marking the scuffs on the stone, and feeling the warmth of the hot water pipes leeching through it into the room. The knee resting against the hard surface will begin to ache soon, depending on how long Thorin is left in this pose. “You have led our people through perils such as others will never know. Now I ask you, will you continue to lead us?”

“I will.”

“Will you take up the mantle of King Under the Mountain, King of Erebor?”

“I will.”

“Do you vow to govern Erebor and its people according to our customs?”

“I do.”

“Will you use your power for the good of the people you rule and preserve the integrity of the kingdom you reign over?”

“I will.”

“And will you, to the utmost of your power, make the good of Erebor and its citizens your highest priority? Do you vow that if at any time the wellness of your people comes into conflict with your own desires, you will take counsel, and do what is best for those over which you rule and their kingdom?”

And Thorin, voice cracking, looks up at Balin and says, “I will.”

Balin blinks wet eyes and takes a deep shaky breath. Their gazes meet and Thorin quickly looks back down, wondering at the way his chest gives a painful squeeze that nearly makes him gasp.

“Who will vouch for you and be your counsel? Which among us will stake their honour on backing you as king?”

_Is this treasure truly worth more than your honour? Our honour, Thorin, I was also there. I gave my word._

“I will.”

Dís’ voice pierces the silence, and Thorin hears her footsteps come up behind them, sounding sure and strong. “I will vouch for him. On my honour I vow that my brother will be a good and just king. I give my word that he will rule wisely and fairly and hold the best interests of the citizens of Erebor as his highest priority.”

Thorin squeezes his eyes shut.

“And will you crown him as such, my Lady Dis?”

“I will do so gladly, Lord Balin.” Dís replies and her voice is strong and clear, carrying out among the people.

Rather than taking the crown from its cushion she comes up behind Thorin and gently takes three strands of his hair. Without faltering she braids the King’s Braid quickly before taking a bead of Thorin’s own from her pocket and clipping it.

“You have been crowned in our ways.” Balin says. “But to show your rank among all the folk of Middle-Earth and make it so none will dare challenge you, I bid that you kneel Thorin Oakenshield, before your people and feel the weight of your vow.”

The old Dwarf turns and Thorin looks back up to see the young official bring forward the cushion holding the crown. Gold shines and glints in the lit hall.

Thorin knows that crown well. It had been his grandfather’s and he had worn it for most of his rule.

But its memory is tarnished with Thorin’s actions under the gold sickness. He stares at it with trepidation and feels his stomach sink at the thought of wearing it again.

Was it not bad enough he had worn this while throwing Erebor and the Company in danger? Does he really have to be crowned using the thing he had worn while nearly throwing Bilbo from the rampart?

“Thorin II of the line of Durin. I, Balin son of Fundin, do hereby crown you as King of Erebor and it’s people.” The weight of the metal crown settles on Thorin’s head. “All hail the King!”

The cheers from before come back in full force, doubling in volume. Thorin looks up as Balin places a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Up you get now, laddie.”

In a haze Thorin stands and turns around, his cloak curling behind him. The cheers grow and he looks out at the Dwarves in front of him quietly, feeling the weight of the moment.

Beside him Fíli shifts and he feels Dís brush his hand with her own. Kíli is beaming and Thorin follows his gaze to find Tauriel standing to clap fiercely while the Company and Daín hoot and holler beside her.

“Sit, Your Majesty, and take your place as King among your people.”

Thorin walks past Balin, seeing him bow his head and then slowly, feeling every eye upon him, he sits on his throne.

It is cold, and despite the cushioning, the surface is hard.

Thorin is not surprised.

* * *

To follow there is the announcement of his heirs. First Thorin crowns Fíli Prince of Erebor and first in line for the throne, with Kíli following immediately after. Dís is crowned Princess and as she rises from kneeling at his feet Thorin sees tears in her eyes.

Next is the long line of nobility who climbs the steps to kneel at his feet and pledge their loyalty to him. Daín goes first and Thorin nearly smiles at the faces his cousin makes while saying his vows of fealty. His cousin’s humor will be missed when he returns home, and though Thorin knows he did it to lighten the mood of this long ceremony it only serves to make Fíli and Kíli laugh inappropriately, which causes Thorin to glare.

None had expected any opposition to Thorin being crowned. So it is a surprise when upon being asked if there are any concerns after Daín has knelt at Thorin’s feet, the Dwarf Sochy steps forward.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, my lords.” A lord from the Iron Hills, she is dressed in purple finery and almost completely bedecked in jewellery. She looks around the room, meeting eyes with several other Dwarrows and Dwarrowdams who grin slyly. Thorin’s gut clenches. “But I would ask why we should bow to you over any other?”

She shoots a look to Daín and Thorin does as well, watching as his cousin frowns and glares. The nerves in his stomach abate a bit when he sees Daín’s disapproval.

Not a coup then. Just a very underhanded show of disobedience.

Balin steps forward. “Thorin is the rightful heir to Erebor. If you have an accusation to make against him then do so.”

“No accusation, my lord.” She dips her head to the son of Fundin. “But it is well known that the Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel, is what unites the Dwarven clans and demands homage from the rulers of other races. Since arriving here from the Iron HIlls I have learned the Heart of the Mountain has been lost, and I wonder how, without it, Thorin Oakenshield has any claim.”

“The stone has been lost.” Thorin speaks and confirms her words. “And will likely never be recovered. If you wish to wait until it is found before following the being that does so you will be waiting forever. To the best of our knowledge, no Dwarf nor Man nor Elf has it.”

“How can you possibly know?” Menka, another Dwarrow from the Iron Hills, steps forward. Daín shoots him a quelling look, but it does nothing. “If it has truly been stolen it could be anywhere. Recovered at any time by anybody.”

“You’re not even looking for it!” Somebody yells.

Even Balin shoots him a warning glance and Thorin scowls. He has never liked nor respected such displays, and this tries his patience. If there are accusations to make then he will have them spoken out loud here and now for him to answer. This is a farce that will achieve nothing.

“There is no way of knowing about the Arkenstone and it is because of that that I warn you to give up your hopes for it. It is gone, perhaps never to be reclaimed. Yet Erebor is here, won back from the Dragon. Would you waste your kingdom and allow it to fall into disorganized rule and chaos because of your obsession for one gem? Our mountain is full of treasure and other riches yet undiscovered. More than that, it is full of our people. Would you ask me to stretch our already thin resources and focus on finding the Arkenstone, rather than honouring the memory of those who died in our fight for our home so that we could rebuild? Is that what you wish?”

Sochy and Menka look cowed but another Dwarf pipes up, this time unrecognized by Thorin. A son of a noble that he had not met in his time in exile, perhaps. From the colours they wear he guesses they hail from Ered Luin.

“Forget the stone then! But why should we follow you? You’ve already fallen ill to the same gold sickness that consumed Thrór and caused us ruin in the first place!”

Thorin feels akin to being doused in ice water and he stands up, ignoring the nervous shifting of his nephews at either side of him. Dís looks like she’s about to reach out to him and Balin’s mouth is open, ready to defend him as well, but Thorin silences them all by stalking to the edge of the dais and looking down.

“You all doubt me.” The statement is flat but his expression is fierce as he surveys each and every Dwarf in the crowd. “I do not fault you for that. Yes, my grandfather fell prey to the gold sickness and yes, during the quest to reclaim this very kingdom in which we stand, I did so as well.”

_Thorin please. Come to bed. You can continue to search in the morning._

“And yet here I am, free from the sickness. Precautions are in place in case I should ever be so weak as to fall again. I have fought the disease and won, unlike my grandfather. I have been crowned king of Erebor, unlike my father. And unlike any other Dwarf, I called together and lead a company of 15 to take back my home from a fire breathing Dragon.

“Erebor is my birthright. I will fight for her to my dying breath, as I have proven. The good of this kingdom comes before all. And all of you here gathered to watch this coronation, I ask where were you when I called you to arms to defend our homeland a year ago once the Dragon was dead? My cousin from the Iron Hills is the only one who came. And before that, as I asked you to join me in the Company’s quest against Smaug? A mere 12 Dwarves answered my call, along with one Wizard and one Hobbit.”

_See that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, because you don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can._

“They followed and fought for me, their leader. And we were successful.” Thorin continues, feeling the hush of the room press down on him. “I have fought for Erebor and I have won it back, as a king must. I have given up everything I can for this kingdom and will continue to do so. As a good king should. You have my word.”

_Is this treasure truly worth more than your honour, our honour, Thorin, I was also there, I gave my word._

He paces across the lip of the stairs, back and forth, cloak dragging behind him. “If there is more I can do to prove I am worthy and earn your trust then ask it of me. Challenge me, if you believe you are more fit to rule Erebor than I. But I would remind you that it was I, along with my Company, that won back our kingdom so that you may stand here to doubt me today. I do not need the Arkenstone to prove that I am worthy, nor to earn us respect from other races. Do any of you?”

A heavy silence falls over them all and he sees several Dwarves bow their heads as even more look away.

“Very well, my King.” Sochy bows breaking the quiet and Thorin’s eyes shoot to her once more. “We cannot doubt your right to rule. Though while we are on the subject, I will inquire as to why the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins has not been tried for his theft of the stone back before the Battle?”

Murmurs of agreement break out and again Thorin grits his teeth to stave off any more unwanted surprises. This has been something plaguing Erebor for some time now if the looks on the other Dwarves can be believed. Though it has nothing to do with this coronation, it seems the Dwarves will wait no longer for answers.

“Bilbo fought just as much as any of us for Erebor.” Fíli has broken rank to come forward and answer the words. “We do not repay such bravery with the insult of accusations.”

“He stole from our kingdom. From our King.” Sochy looks to Thorin. “We would not doubt your strength, Your Majesty, but the Hobbit should have never been allowed to leave without at least a trial to prove his innocence.”

“He stole the stone to save us!” Kíli has joined his brother and Thorin looks over at them both, seeing the fury on their faces. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Boys.” He says and his voice is low in warning. “Enough.”

“By his own admission he gave the Arkenstone to King Bard of Dale and the Elf King.” Sochy’s voice is oily. She does not seem to be scared of facing the royalty of Erebor in front of anyone with any power in the kingdom. In fact her eyes are alight and she seems highly strung from excitement which makes Thorin angry. “He said so in front of the armies of the Iron Hills, Men and Elves. He must answer for that crime.”

“The Arkenstone was returned.” Thorin says, voice brooking no argument. “The matter is closed.”

“A crime against us must be punished.”

“The crime against _me_ ,” Thorin returns, “has been answered for. The Arkenstone is, as you have said, the King’s Jewel. The accusation was mine to level and I did. Master Baggins and I have settled all grievances.” On that score, he adds mentally, before pushing the thought aside and continuing to glower in his most intimidating way. “The Company of Dwarves from which the stone was stolen has forgiven the theft.” He glances at his friends in the front row and sees several of them nodding back at him. Some, such as Dwalin, turn to glare at the faces behind. “As the wronged parties it is within our power to proclaim the Hobbit innocent and we have done so. I will hear no more on the matter.”

He glances at his nephews and nods slightly back towards the throne in silent order. They understand and do as he wants.

“If there is nothing else then I believe we have the oaths of allegiance to complete.”

He stares at the crowd levelly, noting them shift uncomfortably on their feet.

“Very well. Any further grievances will be addressed at a more appropriate time.” He gives significant looks to the mass who make no argument. “We will continue.”

And he sweeps back to his throne, ignoring the looks from his kin as he waits for the first noble to climb up the stairs and kneel at his feet to kiss the ring of Durin. It is lucky he has no need to speak as Balin reads off the names from a few feet away. Thorin doubts he could string together two words, never mind a sentence.

His mind is racing from this discontent and he cannot help but think that this finally proves Hugin’s warnings to him from months ago. The Dwarves would not sit back and allow themselves to be governed into ruin as they had in the days of Thrór. They wanted security and promises, they needed justice.

Stability is what matters now more than ever, Thorin thinks as Sochy kisses his ring with nothing but respect in her expression despite the earlier challenge. Hugin had been right. To keep Bilbo here would have proved a mistake.

Hours later all of the customs and traditions have been seen to, and Thorin is grateful. He stands and sweeps out of the room at the end of the coronation, his family close behind. Deafening cheers follow them once more and Thorin knows the mood of the crowd has turned all over again. The doubt is gone from the nobles, he has withstood their scrutiny and come out victorious. If there is any more opposition to be had to him as a ruler it will not be from the Dwarves of Erebor.

Still, despite the events of today he cannot help but wish for Bilbo.

It is that thought that carries him from the hall, and it stays with him until he reaches the feasting room where he greets the leaders of the Men and Elves.

* * *

The feast is of course disastrous. Thorin had dreaded it would be, and he is disappointed to find out he has assumed right.

After the shock of the coronation he is not in the best of moods, and the presence of the Men and Elves does nothing to help matters.

Unsurprisingly he is sitting next to Gandalf on one side and Dís on the other. Beside Gandalf there is Thranduil, who looks over the feasting hall with a stony expression that is neither pleased or displeased. Bard is beside Dís and the two of them seem to be heavy in pleasant conversation. It does not stop Daín from leaning over and joining in every once in a while. At the edges of the high table are the rest of the Company, Tauriel, Bard’s children, Gimli and Legolas Greenleaf. They all sit as mixed as whoever arranged the seating could manage. Balin most likely.

It is halfway through the dinner that Thorin catches sight of Gimli. He is red faced and has the unfortunate punishment of being sat next to the Elf Prince. The two are locked in a heavy discussion filled with frowns and glares, and Thorin knows, even from where he sits far away, that some insult has arisen between the two. Their bickering is quiet, but their faces show nothing but unhappiness.

Judging from the way Thranduil is glancing over at his son with displeasure the Elf King has not been ignorant of it either.

He vaguely remembers Dís saying something about Gimli disagreeing with Prince Legolas as they had been escorted through Mirkwood during their trip from the Blue Mountains. Perhaps somebody should have made Balin aware of the fact before he had decided to place the two side by side for the night.

The poor lad, Thorin thinks as he looks away from Gloin’s son. He is no doubt regretting his relation to Balin now, and his valor in defending the Dwarven caravan as it made its way to Erebor. The two things are what had earned him a place at the table with the rest of them.

The rest of the feast is even worse. Thorin had begun it with a speech to honour the Company and their bravery, to commemorate the Battle of Five Armies and thank their allies in assisting them. Both Bard and Thranduil had stood and thanked him for inviting them to Erebor’s halls and acknowledged his coronation.

Luckily the food had come next before too much conversation could take place, and while the Dwarven musicians filled the hall with lovely sound to provide a backdrop for other chatter, the guests had fallen to eating their fill and speaking with their neighbours.

Thorin notes Prince Legolas shoot a pleading look to Tauriel who sends an inscrutable one back before turning to once more converse with Balin. With a sigh the prince resumes listening to Gimli, looking away from his old friend.

And hadn’t that caused a stir when Thranduil had caught sight of his old captain and realized she would be sitting at the table with them. When the three kings had first walked into the hall side by side to take their seats, met with everybody else in the hall standing at attention, the Elf had looked down at Thorin and spoke quietly without seeming to move his lips at all.

“I will not sit with her.”

Thorin had known right away who he meant and had not been so polite as he looked up at the immortal with a scowl.

He had, with a determination he did not quite feel, replied, “she joins us at the high table. You may sit at one of the lower ones if you wish.”

“Peace.” Bard had said lowly to them both. “My Lord Thranduil, she is a renowned member of King Thorin’s court and publicly attached to his nephew. You cannot expect him to shun her in such a way.”

Thranduil’s eyes had slowly drifted to Bard and though his displeasure had not left him, he had conceded without a word as they finally took their places.

It had made Thorin smile. Perhaps Tauriel had some uses after all, even if it was only to irk her former king.

So there was tension, but that was not unexpected. Everyone may be on their best behaviour but that does not erase the past, nor ease the many competitions of pride and one-upmanship that are subtly happening all around the room.

If it had not been for his contention with Thranduil, Thorin would have laughed at the others. As it is he’s in no position to judge. Not now when he is doing his best to show off his court to its full extent. Bard and Gandalf, however, seem to be enjoying the petty squabbling immensely.

And that may have been fine, Thorin may have been able to merely grit his teeth and get through the night, if Thranduil didn't overstep the mark, just as he always does.

“And where is Bilbo Baggins, King Under the Mountain?” Thranduil’s silken voice calls his attention from the tables of folk eating ravenously before them all. He speaks quietly enough that only those in the immediate vicinity can hear. “I would have thought as part of your Company he had earned a spot at such a ceremony.”

Thorin’s voice is flat. “He has returned home to the Shire.”

As Thranduil well knows. Bilbo and Gandalf had been escorted through Mirkwood by the Elf King himself after all, if reports are to be believed.

“A pity,” Thranduil murmurs but this time he sounds as if he may mean his words, causing Thorin to watch him closer. “I would have liked to see him again.”

“As would I.” Bard has momentarily joined the conversation from Thorin’s other side. “I will miss the little fellow.”

“Master Baggins seems to be most popular with everyone he meets.” Dís intones politely.

“His actions are not to be downplayed.” Bard says to her with a smile. “He did much for all of our people, not only the Dwarves.”

“So much so that I have named him an Elf-friend.” Thranduil agrees absently, causing several looks of surprise. Thorin’s sharper than most. The immortal’s eyes glint cruelly as he looks back at the king and continues. “A pity his Dwarven friends do not seem to have appreciated him as he deserves.”

Several of their companions make noises of outrage but it is Thorin, barely restraining himself from standing up at the challenge, who cuts through the noise.

“You forget yourself,” he says sharply, causing Daín to look over at him in surprise and take in the situation.

Bard clears his throat. “Perhaps this is a conversation best left for private. Or not to be had at all.”

“I would agree.” Gandalf intones seriously and there is something heavy about the way he speaks which makes Thorin take note and sit back, eyes still locked on Thranduil who pauses for only a moment before seeming to do the same.

“Of course it is none of my concern.”

Thorin grits his teeth at the murmur. “It is not. Though if you are so concerned it will please you to know that Bilbo was named Dwarf-friend long before he left.”

It is only his ire that makes him forget himself and use Bilbo’s name so publicly. Indeed he earns many glances of surprise at the familiarity, and turns away back to his food, ending the discussion.

Gandalf quickly occupies him, acting as a barrier between him and Thranduil; at the same time Thorin hears Dís and Bard return to their murmurs behind him.

“You are quick to defend our friend these days.”

Thorin looks away. “There was a time when I failed to do so. I will not make that mistake again.”

Whether Gandalf thinks he means the ramparts or sending Bilbo away, it makes no difference. Thorin leaves him to make his own assumptions. And so it is with surprise that he listens to Gandalf murmur.

“I find it does no good to linger on the past, Thorin.”

His smile is bitter. “I find I can do nothing else.”

The grey eyes are lit with interest and Thorin feels their weight keenly. “If you are curious, Bilbo was well when I left him. Though he misses you all a great deal.”

Thorin raises his eyes to meet the Wizard’s. “I did not ask, Gandalf.”

“No. But you know now nonetheless.”

Thorin sits in silence for a long while after that. But at the end of the feast, just before the serving of Bombur’s surprise dessert- a cake depicting the Company, one large enough to feed every guest a slice- he speaks quietly once more without turning.

“Thank you.”

Gandalf makes no reply but Thorin knows he has heard him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to share this chapter with you guys. This really is one of my favourites, just because I got to explore each member of the Company while writing some of the best angsty, pining Thorin moments. I hope you like it! 
> 
> But before you start you should know that this chapter is a bit wonky, chronology wise, because it begins the day after Bilbo left Erebor and ends two and half years later. So it spans two and a half years. And the reason I waited until now to post it is because overall this is where the last scene fits in the story. Hopefully that isn't too confusing.
> 
> And looking ahead to next chapter we may see the return of a certain someone... not naming names but... I'm pretty sure you can guess who.
> 
> namad- sister

The day after Bilbo leaves Bofur is allowed into Thorin’s office.

This is before the cold war between them begins. At the moment, Bofur is only a concerned friend trying to understand; and Thorin, still hurting over his argument with Fíli about Bilbo the day before, is too buried in his own pain to make such an effort in return.

“What can I do for you, Bofur?” Thorin asks him, noting the nervous way the miner clutches his hat to his chest. “Is it the mines?”

“No, nothing like that.” Bofur’s eyes were restless, skipping around the room and taking in every paper, every ornament. The fire crackles happily in the fireplace in the wall, filling the tense quiet. “I was just wondering, and I’m not trying to overstep here mind you, whether you were alright? What with Bilbo having gone and all.”

Well. Thorin can not say that he is surprised but he did wish that his suspicions over Bofur’s visit had been wrong.

“I have told Fíli to make you all aware.” He stares into the fire, too cowardly to face his friend. “I will not be discussing the Burglar and wish to hear no mention of him.”

“Aye, we were told as such. But I thought that perhaps- I’m quite close to Bilbo you see. I believe I know a few things the others might not.” Now Thorin does look up at him sharply and Bofur swallows loudly, obviously nervous. “So, I was thinking that maybe, if you needed somebody to talk to-”

“Thank you for the offer but it is unnecessary.” Thorin interrupts. “He is gone and will never return. There is nothing to discuss.”

Bofur’s look of shock slowly becomes one of hesitance. “Now there’s no need to hide it-”

“Enough. I have said all I will on the subject.”

The hesitation is leaving the -Ur brother quickly. “There’s something else, isn’t there? More than what Bilbo said?”

“I have told you I will say nothing on the matter. You would do well not to press me on this.”

“Hold on just a moment. If Bilbo’s no liar, and I’ve never known him to be one, then he had no intention of leaving Erebor until a week ago. Something’s made him go back, made him leave.” Bofur’s eyes narrow as his thinking leads him to the right conclusion. “Or someone.”

That’s it. Thorin will not take this, certainly not from Bofur who only barely has the title of lord, and only given to him by Thorin’s own goodwill.

His growl is dangerous and full of warning.

“You overstep.”

“You know, I don’t think I do.” The miner is angry now and that makes two of them. “I think I’m just saying a truth you don’t want to hear.”

“I will not suffer this. If you have nothing but angry words to throw at me then we have nothing else to discuss.”

“I thought you treated your friends better than this, O King Under the Mountain.” Thorin shoots to stand up at the impertinence but Bofur is already backing to the door. “But you are right about one thing. Until I am convinced that you did not mistreat Bilbo we have nothing further to say.”

“You are dismissed.” Thorin says and Bofur bows mockingly. “Get out and do not ever dare say such things to me again.”

“I thought my king was my friend Thorin Oakenshield. When did you become so like your grandfather?”

It is more than even Thorin can forgive in his self-loathing state. “Dwalin!”

His friend opens the door right away and takes in the scene, axe gripped in hand. When he sees there is no danger confusion sweeps across his features, but Thorin has no time to explain.

“Show Master Bofur out and ensure that he does not return until he remembers that I am king and do not have to explain my actions to one such as he.” He feels like a Dwarfling again, throwing his weight and title around to impress his parents and grandparents and make himself seem important. He feels ashamed.

Dwalin’s brows furrow. “What-”

“No need, Your Majesty. I will go. And you can be sure that I will not bother you again.”

He leaves and Dwalin, obviously unsure of what his role is in the argument, leaves shortly after.

* * *

A week after Bilbo has gone Glóin comes to Thorin after a council meeting. They wait until they are the only two left in the room before the red-haired Dwarf finally takes a seat beside him. His words are cautious and slow, and when he finally speaks, Thorin knows why.

“I know you’ve said not to mention him, but Bilbo’s coin is loaded and ready to go to Dale.” Glóinlicks his lips quickly. “I just thought I should get your final approval before sending it off.”

Thorin is too surprised to be upset at the mention of Bilbo. “What are you talking about?”

“His share of the treasure.” Glóin’s head tilts slightly to the side in question. “It’s prepared for Bard and the Men.”

“And why would it be going to them?”

Bilbo had already given Dale three carts of coin after the Battle to help with the reparations.

“Because… he asked me to arrange it before he left. He wanted Bard to have the rest of his share given that he had no use of it all back home. I thought-” He pauses. “You did not know?”

Thorin grits his teeth- a familiar habit now, one that he needs to break. Balin has begun to give him lectures on grinding his teeth unnecessarily and tension headaches. “No.”

The one-word reply comes out shortly and Glóin blinks and hesitates in surprise.

“Ah. Well perhaps it’s better then that I checked with you beforehand.”

He waits, obviously expecting to be told to unload the carts and bring the gold back to the treasury.

Thorin sighs.

“Do as was requested,” he says eventually.

He does not begrudge the Men the money. In fact, he doesn’t particularly care about parting with the gold. The treasure in Erebor is cursed, or at least heavy with the miasma from Smaug. The more they got rid of and split up, the better, and it will allow more space for anything found in the mines now that work has begun again.

No, he does not mind the gold leaving, or who it is going to. He is only hurt from the fact that Bilbo had not told him of his plans. And a part of him is sad that the only reward Thorin could still give him is ending up in the possession of somebody else.

But he knows better than most the lack of regard Bilbo has for wealth. He is not so surprised.

Sad yes. Aching at the reminder that Bilbo will never come back and has cut one of the only remaining ties he has with the mountain. But not surprised.

He has no right to be.

“Very good, Your Majesty.” Glóin says and rises from his chair. “I’ll send the carts out right away.”

Thorin nods, giving Glóin his dismissal and is left alone, fingers tracing patterns on the council table’s surface.

* * *

“You asked for me, Your Grace?”

Thorin sighs at the propriety. “You can call me Thorin, Ori, I don’t mind. In fact, I welcome it.”

The young Dwarf blushes. “That’s alright, My Lord. Dori’s taught me my manners.”

“It is not a case of- never mind. Yes, I did send for you. I need any books from our library that you can find on these flowers and trees.” He slides the list over to him. “Could you get them for me? And perhaps sort through to see which may be best?”

“Of course.” Ori grins shyly. “It would be my pleasure as your Keeper of the Library.”

Thorin can’t help but smile a bit back, mostly in relief. “Thank you. That is all.”

A few days later and his request is fulfilled more than satisfactorily. Ori comes to him bearing an armful of books that come to sit on Thorin’s desk with a heavy thump.

“Here you are!” He says cheerily, not seeming to struggle in the slightest with the load. Though, Thorin remembers, he is related to Dori. “These should do the trick I think.”

Thorin runs a fingertip over the spines, reading the Khuzdûl and Westron titles before stopping. “These two are in Elvish.”

Why they even had Elvish books on gardening in Erebor he does not know, but it is enough to make him frown.

“Oh, yes.” Ori blushes. “I wasn’t sure if you knew Elvish or not. I thought to include them anyway, given that since they’re by the Elves it may be more helpful than the others.”

Thorin frowns. “I do not know it. Perhaps I could ask Tauriel.”

“If that is the case I could do it, Sire.” He’s looking at Thorin hopefully and the king blinks in surprise. “Though of course Tauriel will likely be far better.”

“You know Elvish?”

Thorin thinks back to Rivendell and then Mirkwood, trying to remember Ori mentioning this before. To his knowledge only two members of their Company had known Sindarin. Both were no longer in Erebor and one of them was Gandalf.

The Dwarf blushes. “A bit. Enough to translate this, I should think, or at least the important bits.” He stops for a moment before confessing quietly. “Bilbo was teaching me.”

Thorin purses his lips. “I see.”

His finger taps on the books absently.

“But of course Tauriel would do better.” Ori talks quickly, trying to cover the tense silence. “And I’m sure she would be more than happy to.”

“If you wish to do it you can.” Thorin says finally. “I would prefer this to remain between you and I if possible.”

Ori blinks. “Of course.” Another hesitation. “Is that why you asked me to gather them for you instead of coming to the library yourself?”

Thorin thinks of the last time he had been to the Royal Library and looks sternly at the books in front of him. “My reasons are my own.”

Immediately Ori looks chastened and Thorin feels a spark of guilt. Ori reminds him of Fíli and Kíli when they were younger, though far more innocent.

“I would appreciate it if I could call upon you for any books I might need in the future, Ori. If you would be willing?”

Large eyes rise from the ground to meet his and Ori nods quickly. “Yes, Your Majesty, anything you need. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.” He says kindly and takes the two bottom books and hands them back. “You need not rush too much on these, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“You’re welcome. I mean thank you. I mean…” He trails off, obviously unsure before visibly shaking himself and looking sheepish. “Right away, Your Majesty.”

Thorin smiles at him again. “You may go.”

He does and Thorin plucks the top book from the pile. Written by a Man, if the language is anything to go by, he quickly flips to the table of contents to find what he needs.

And then he begins to read.

* * *

A month after Bilbo has gone it is Dwalin.

“Right then.” His friend comes up to stand only step behind him, voice rough but determined. “We’re going to spar.”

Thorin looks back at him in surprise, but in truth he is itching to do just that. Something physical, anything that will get his mind off the constant ache he feels. If it helps him ignore Fíli’s angry looks and Bofur’s cold silence, or even just Balin’s pitying stares, he will do anything.

He glances over at Dáin who just waves them off as he bends over the trade routes that have been drawn up to go between Erebor and the Iron Hills. “Go ahead, I’ll be busy with this for a while.”

Thorin breathes out in relief. “Thank you, cousin.”

“Ach, maybe it’ll help you improve enough to best me.”

“Those are fighting words,” Thorin notes as he stands. “And a lie to boot.”

Dáin huffs a laugh and then Thorin is leading Dwalin to the sparring rooms.

“What’s brought this on?” He inquires of his friend as they shuck off their top layers of clothing. “Weapons?”

“Sword,” Dwalin answers gruffly, grabbing his preferred one from the wall. Thorin does the same. “And why don’t you tell me?”

He ties his hair back into a low ponytail and shakes his head. “Something’s frustrating you then?”

“Aye,” Dwalin agrees. “Care to hazard a guess what it might be?”

He almost says Nori, but the look in Dwalin’s eyes is wrong for that. The grudging amusement Dwalin has for the Master Assassin nay thief is nowhere to be seen at present. Instead there is only a patient frustration, as if Dwalin is waiting for Thorin to admit to something.

“Me.” He realizes, saying so out loud. When Dwalin doesn’t contradict him, he knows he’s correct, which makes him frown at his friend. “What have I done?”

“Exactly.” Dwalin swings his sword half-heartedly and Thorin meets it lazily, more focused on the other Dwarf’s words than the attack. “What have you done, Thorin?”

Slowly awareness comes upon him and he hopes Dwalin is not talking about Bilbo. He parries Dwalin’s move but the larger Dwarf bats the blade away, the effort they put into their swings growing as time goes on.

“Do not mince words.” He growls. “Say what you will or leave it.”

“Fine.” Their swords clash loudly between them and they both use their strength to hold them locked together. “I’d like to know why you’ve thought it necessary to break not only your own heart but the Hobbit’s as well.”

Thorin is so surprised at Dwalin’s bluntness that when Dwalin pushes against him he stumbles back and away, sword falling until the tip almost touches the ground.

Dwalin is his closest friend for many reasons, loyalty chief among them. But one thing Thorin has always appreciated is that Dwalin is a Dwarf who dislikes conversations such as this almost as much as Thorin does.

So to have him ask about Bilbo… that proves to Thorin that his friend is truly concerned.

And, as always lately, he finds he has no choice but to lie.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bugger that.”

Their swords meet again for a second, kissing one another quickly before Thorin twirls, and they meet again. One clang after the other resounds in the room and Thorin is grateful because it gives him a chance to regain his footing and composure.

“You’ve always been shite at hiding your feelings, Thorin. You’re hurting over the Halfling.”

He swallows and even though it is the worst thing to do in a fight he looks away. “It does not matter.”

“When it’s making you so bloody miserable, I’d say it does matter.” Again Dwalin hits his sword away and only years of training make Thorin dance away from a winning strike. “You love him?”

It’s a gruff question and Thorin remembers months ago back on the road to Erebor. At Lake-town Dwalin had caught him watching Bilbo and it had taken all of a second before his friend understood what was going on.

_“The Halfling? Truly?”_

Thorin could not deny it even back then, and Dwalin had only sighed beside him in resignation.

He doesn’t answer the question now, but he doesn’t need to. Dwalin knows.

“Why’d you let him go then? Better yet, why’d he leave? He was just as besotted as you if the constant heart-eyes was any indication.”

Thorin feels the words pierce him at the same time Dwalin’s blade rests at his neck. He has no answer so instead he snarls, stepping back and knocking the blades away, listening to them hit the floor before he swings a fist.

Dwalin’s surprise isn’t enough to win Thorin the fight, and he blocks the punch with his forearm, jabbing an uppercut back and making Thorin grunt.

“You’re lying about something.” Dwalin growls. “You and Balin both. I know it.”

“It does not concern you.” Thorin pants as they stagger away from one another, eyes meeting for a few seconds. “You would do best to leave it.”

“You’re _hurting_!” Dwalin says, the concern so blatant Thorin does stop, and his guard uses that to grab one wrist and throw him to the ground. The hit winds him and Thorin is left gasping for breath. “It’s obvious. And it’s weakening you, which makes it not only my concern, but everybody’s.”

It would be an easier accusation to deny if Thorin was not lying pinned on the ground.

“I am not neglecting my duties.”

“No, you’re doing the opposite. Throwing yourself into them so hard there’s no room for anything else except that bloody garden!” Dwalin snarls. “If you want him so badly then call for him. He will come.”

He wouldn’t. Thorin knows it.

“I cannot.”

Frustration gives way to disgust on Dwalin’s face and he stands up to get away from him. “If there was a foe I could fight for you, I would. But the only enemy here is your own stubbornness. I don’t know what happened between you two and I don’t care to, but I won’t waste my time feeling sorry for you if it’s your fault.” He hesitates. “Is it your fault?”

Thorin doesn’t answer; but that in itself is answer enough.

“You’re being a fool, Thorin.”

“And what would you know of it?” He bites back, coming up to rest on his elbows, staring up at the tattooed Dwarf. “How can you chastise me when I watch you pine for Nori?”

Dwalin’s face closes off in an instant. “Don’t go there.”

“Then you do the same. Stop with this. All of you.” And he means the entire Company. “Are we done?”

Dwalin’s mouth works for a moment before his lips thin. “I suppose we are.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

“Very well, Your Majesty.” Again the title is sneered, something Thorin is becoming all too familiar with, before Dwalin stalks out of the room.

With a sigh Thorin stands up and takes the two swords from the ground, placing them on the wall. Then he goes and gets cleaned up before making his way to his study.

Erebor was never satisfied after all, and Thorin has a lot of work to do.

* * *

The knock on the door to his chambers that night surprises him and he slowly sets the book he is reading aside on the arm of his chair. It has been the only book on Hobbits that Ori has been able to find in the library.

The knock surprises him yes, but what shocks him even more is the sight of Dori standing on the other side clasping a wrapped bundle to his chest.

“Master Dori.”

The seamster bows low. “Your Majesty.”

He’s nervous, Thorin realizes as he watches Dori look around anxiously, fingers clenching and unclenching around the wrapped fabric in his hands.

“Thorin, Dori, please.”

“I can’t be long.” Dori brushes the words away like usual as he enters the greeting parlour slowly. “Ori’s waiting on me.”

Thorin almost speaks to say that Ori might be glad of the time alone, but thinks better of it at the last moment. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Well it’s this, you see.” He holds out the package. “The winter coat you ordered me to make for Bilbo.”

The words hang in the air.

“I was so close to finished before he left but didn’t quite get it done in time.” The Dwarf says sadly as Thorin stares down at the brown wrapping paper. “Pity, for I think he could have used it on the trip home, even though this winter was quick and he had his new travelling clothes.” He clears his throat. “I left it unfinished for ages but lately I’ve been thinking of him more and in my spare time I just thought- well I had nothing else to do.”

“What do you expect me to do with this?” Thorin’s question is flat.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” Dori pulls the coat back to himself a bit, though it still sits proudly on his open palms. “I only thought perhaps I would check if you still wanted it since this is the last piece of the order for him.” He hesitates, scared to add, “it was your commission.”

Thorin reaches out before he can think, only to stop his hand in the air for a moment.

He should have the fabric reused for something else, he knows. Or send it back with Dori to do with as he wishes.

But he at least wants to see it.

Pulling the folded paper away he marvels silently. Taking the maroon coat from the wrapping he holds it up.

The style is reminiscent of Thorin’s own, though the colours differ. Outside it is maroon fabric, thick and warm, but the inner layer is smooth brown fur. The collar is wide and bent back to the shoulders, and around the coat’s edges the fur peeks out to line it.

He can picture Bilbo wearing it so easily that he just stands there in silence, basking in his vivid imagination. It’s almost as if Bilbo is really there for Thorin to stare at.

Only Dori shifting his weight from one foot to the other makes him remember he is not alone, and he turns back to the ‘Ri brother. “How much?”

“Oh.” A blink. “Thorin, I wouldn’t make you pay for it when it will never be used-”

“How much?” Thorin repeats, trying not to growl. “You have been paid for the other items and I will not skimp you now. Name your price.”

Dori’s answer makes him frown and he knows it is less than deserved. With a huff Thorin hangs the coat over one forearm and retrieves a few silver coins to hand over.

“Oh!” Dori squeaks. “This is by far too much!”

“Keep it. For a job well done.” Thorin is already looking back down at the coat. “And thank you.”

He does not even notice when Dori leaves and instead wanders over to his armchair, the coat in his lap as he sits for the rest of the night.

The next day it hangs in his own wardrobe amongst his own things. The servants do not remark on it and neither does he.

* * *

Two and a half months have passed since Bilbo left the mountain and Thorin finally decides enough is enough. With dry eyes and exhaustion pulling at him, he goes and seeks out Óin.

“And what are you doing here?” Glóin’s older brother demands as soon as he sees him in the royal apothecary.

Shelves line the walls, and sitting on those shelves are countless tinctures, ointments, lotions, bandages and more items than Thorin can name. Other Dwarves come in and out, doing double-takes at the sight of their king, and he returns their nods and bows with a small incline of his head.

Night is falling however, and these rooms and hallways are mostly deserted. Any reasonable Dwarf would be back in their chambers, either with their families or spending the evening resting alone. It is only because Óin mentioned at the Company’s dinner meal that he would be doing inventory tonight that Thorin knows where to look.

“I was wondering,” he begins and then stops. It is rare for Dwarves to seek out treatment for such matters, but he is growing desperate. Whether or not it makes Óin think less of him he no longer cares. “Do you have anything that might help me sleep at nights?”

One thing he appreciates about Óin is that he never pries and his discretion is unmatched. His nephews could do with learning a thing or two, Thorin thinks uncharitably.

Ear trumpet in hand, Oin’s grumpy and chastising look becomes one of understanding and sympathy.

“Ah. Yes, lots of that these days.” He lowers his voice. “Nightmares from the Battle and such. You know.”

Thorin does know. He is well acquainted with nightmares these days. And not all of them are from battles.

He has tried to deal with it on his own. Ehen that hadn’t worked, he’d soldiered on with even less hours of sleep than usual, which had already been low. But today he had nearly dropped off while listening to Dwalin’s report of patrols in the council meeting and only managed to hide it when Balin had nudged him in the side.

It will not do to have a king who is hard pressed to stay awake.

“How long has this been going on?” The grey-bearded Dwarf asks casually. “Days? Weeks? If it’s only days I would recommend waiting a wee bit longer. Sometimes sleep cycles are just thrown off for a bit and it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Months.” Thorin says quietly. “Over two now.”

Óin stops, back to Thorin, but only for a few seconds before he’s shuffling again.

“If that’s the case then I’m surprised you didn’t come to me sooner. Though you always were the most suborn of all my patients.” Óin smiles back at him.

Thorin does not return it.

“Ach well.” The healer bustles further down the shelves. “What’s the problem? Pain stopping you from sleeping or waking you up in the night? Nightmares? Too many thoughts keeping you awake?”

“Nightmares,” he replies shortly and watches Óin nod. When he says nothing and silence falls, Thorin softens a bit. “I dream of the gold sickness. And past battles.”

And Bilbo, he does not say.

“Is there anything for that?”

“Hmm,” Óin says, which is not really an answer but he finally stops in front of some vials and picks up two. “This one is what I usually give out for that. But there’s also this. It’s Elvish but comes well recommended.”

“Recommended?” Thorin frowns and takes the Elvish bottle, reading the looping script. “By who?”

Who in all of Erebor would choose this? Tauriel perhaps? Or one of the healer Men or Elves who had worked with Óin and the others after the battle?

“By Bilbo actually.” Óin says. “He used it quite regularly while he was here.”

Thorin blinks in surprise. “He did?”

“Yes. He told me it worked wonders. Not many others have tried it.” Oin sniffs. “I don’t much like Elves, but they do seem to know what they’re doing where healing is concerned. If Bilbo said it worked that’s good enough for me.”

Thorin stares at the bottle lost in contemplation. Bilbo had had the odd nightmare, it was true, but enough to need something such as this? How had Thorin not known that?

“Like I said there’s always this one if you’re not willing to take his word on it.”

“No.” Thorin grips the bottle tighter. “This will do fine. Thank you.”

“Not a problem lad. Don’t hesitate to find me if you need more.”

Nodding absently Thorin thanks him once more before heading back to his own chambers. He takes a few droplets as Óin had instructed, mixing them with a glass of water, before slipping under the sheets.

That night he has his best sleep in months.

The fact that it is dreamless is, perhaps, all the better.

* * *

“Bombur.” Thorin catches up to him in the hallway just outside of the royal kitchens, ignoring the other Dwarves who bow their heads as they pass by. The large Dwarf stops and turns, meeting him with an expectant look and Thorin halts when only a couple of feet separate them. “As you know we will be hosting Bard and his family here next week for dinner on the anniversary of Smaug’s death.”

Bombur waits patiently.

“He professed a love for one dessert you had made last year. A tart, I believe, with nuts and drizzles of honey. Does this sound familiar?”

A nod is his answer.

Thorin nods back. A Dwarf of few words is Bombur, and always straight to the point when he uses them. He has always respected that. “If you could I would ask you serve them for him again. We are trying to maintain relations with Dale and though there have been no problems it does not hurt to make an effort in small ways such as these.”

Another nod and this time words accompany it. “I will do all I can, Your Majesty. Though I should say that those tarts King Bard liked so much were Bilbo’s and try as I might I have never quite managed to make the pastry quite the same.”

Thorin starts, caught at the unexpected mention of Bilbo.

He should have known that, he thinks. Remembering the one and only feast Bilbo had been here for after the Battle, he recalls the Hobbit coming back to their rooms from the kitchens, covered in flour with sticky hands but grinning wider than Thorin could remember since retaking Erebor. He had washed and changed as Thorin finished making himself presentable and they had gone down together to welcome Bard and Thranduil and their entourages for a feast made up of provisions from Esgaroth, the Iron Hills, Mirkwood and what had been scrounged on the mountain.

The night had been filled with music and dancing. Everyone had gone to sleep with full bellies for the first time in days. He had even managed to talk peacefully with Thranduil the entire evening, though that had been mostly Bilbo’s doing.

And that night back in their chambers, Bilbo had wondered at how beautiful Erebor was in such peaceful times while sitting back against Thorin’s chest, as he had softly sung to him and played the harp before they retired to bed.

Hurriedly he snapped himself out of his own thoughts.

“But you can make them?”

“Of course.” Bombur looks a tad insulted now despite the fact it had been he who raised concerns. “I make a wonderful pastry, it just tastes a bit different than Bilbo’s.” He hums to himself. “I wonder if I might write to him to ask for the recipe. Just in case there’s an ingredient I miss.”

He’s watching Thorin closely and he remembers that this is Bofur’s brother. Bombur is bound to know more than he lets on, at least enough to know Thorin has done something to upset Bofur and cause him to ignore him. All of the Company have picked up on that.

Despite the turmoil he’s feeling, the king makes an effort to soften. “You do not need my permission to talk to him, Bombur. Though I am sure your best will be more than satisfactory.”

“Very well, Your Majesty, it shall be done.” He smiles. “Was there anything else?”

They talk a bit about the food stores for winter but apart from that there is nothing urgent and Thorin lets him go. And at the anniversary feast a week later he watches Bard spot the tarts and smile, the man’s entire face lighting up.

He does not try one himself but Bard turns to him and says, “my compliments to your cook, King Thorin. These taste just as good as they did the last I had them. There is great danger of my asking your chef for the recipe.”

“Bombur will be more than happy to share it with you.” Thorin replies

And when he does eventually get the recipe from the other Dwarf to pass along, he sees it is written not in Bombur’s script, but that of a Hobbit.

He gives it to Bard anyway.

* * *

“Now that was good.” Kíli stretches and groans and the rest of the Company laugh at him along with Dís and Tauriel. “Honestly Bombur, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Bombur blushes crimson and the Company all cheer anew. Thorin sits at the head of the table, Fíli on one side and Dís on his other, and only looks out at them all fondly.

The plates in front of them all are bare, every scrape of food eaten and washed down with large tankards of ale. Bifur is slurring his words slightly, and Dwalin and Nori have slipped and allowed themselves to fall into what looks like a teasing conversation rather than an outwardly hostile one.

Even Thorin’s blood is running warm and his head is growing heavy from the drink. He feels relaxed and almost content while watching those he loves happily throw the few last morsels across the table.

Fíli is lilting to the side, and when his eyes finally do slide closed his head falls against Tauriel’s arm. The Elf kindly looks down but stays still, only nudging Kíli on her other side and jerking her head at his brother so he can see.

“Ha!” Kíli laughs and leans around her to smack Fíli on the head, making the eldest brother jolt up quickly in surprise and causing fresh laughter amongst them all. Even Thorin smiles and glances at Dís who is shaking her head. “Get up and find your own lass, brother. Tauriel’s made her preference clear for which of the two of us she likes better.”

Fíli scowls at him before rubbing his face and glancing sheepishly beside him. “Sorry Tauriel.”

“No need,” she replies smiling. “Though I think you have the right idea. It’s about time for us to retire for the night, is it not?”

She looks at Kíli, whose yawn undercuts him rolling his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’ll join you if that’s alright,” Dís stands. “I feel in the mood for a cuppa.”

“That sounds lovely.” Tauriel agrees and Kíli looks at her in betrayal.

Thorin hides his fresh smile behind his tankard, finishing his own drink.

“I’ll come too.” Fíli says. “Tea might wake me up a bit. It’s probably not even dark out.”

“We have been here a while.” Balin says from where he’s trying to pull Dwalin away from Nori, likely to take him to his own rooms. “I wouldn’t be surprised if night had fallen.”

“Hmph.” Fíli grunts but gets up. His mother takes pity and links their arms.

“We’ll bid good night to you all.”

“Goodnight!” The Company cheers, half of them getting up as well. Gloín is already well out the door to go home and Bombur isn’t far behind, probably ready to tuck all his kids in.

Thorin watches his family leave and stands as well.

“Until next week.” He intones.

Mumbled goodbyes follow him out and he walks up the stairs to the apartments. Deciding quickly, he knocks on the door to Kíli’s rooms, hearing his youngest nephew call, “come in!”

“Is there room for another?” He asks them while slipping inside and Kíli grins widely before gesturing to one of the few chairs and couch spots available.

He settles on the loveseat across from the fire, watching as Dís strokes Fíli’s hair. He is laying with his head on her lap and breathing softly, already asleep.

“He passed out as soon as he sat down.” Kíli says from where he sits on the floor between Tauriel’s legs. She is in the chair behind him, frowning at a braid in his hair and redoing it quickly.

“He is tired.” Thorin replies. “And rightly so. I have kept you both busy as of late.”

“But I’m still awake.” Kíli points out proudly, making Tauriel snort and tap the back of his head in silent chastisement.

“You are not the heir,” Thorin returns. “And therefore have had less to do.”

“Whatever.” Kíli’s head lolls against Tauriel’s leg and he closes his eyes. Moments later they open again and he suggests, “we should have some music.”

“I forbid you to sing,” Thorin replies immediately making Dís laugh.

“I’m not that bad!”

“My ears have still not recovered.”

“Enough.” Dis shakes her head at the pair of them. “Thorin, why don’t you grab your harp and play for us?”

He stills and Kíli shoots his mother a warning look.

Tauriel’s hands pause in Kíli’s hair and she looks up. “I could sing.”

“Yes! Tauriel can sing, she’s wonderful!”

“A good idea.” Thorin replies and catches Dís’ look. “Not tonight, _namad_. Perhaps another time.”

His sister seems to accept that, and they all sit together, the idea of tea forgotten as Tauriel sings softly and braids Kíli’s hair. Most of the songs are in Elvish but Thorin doesn’t mind tonight. Eventually her singing turns into humming and he feels lethargic until the tune changes.

He could not say what it is that makes him perk up and pay attention. Perhaps the slow and almost quiet notes of her tune. Maybe it is the sad expression on her face. Though Thorin does not know the song, nor understand the Elvish, he can tell from the way she stares at Kíli that it is a song about love, and a sad one at that.

As soon as she finishes, he stands. “I should retire. Tomorrow will be busy.”

“We all should.” Dís wakes Fíli gently, and he grumbles but stands anyway, along with Kíli and Tauriel to bid them goodnight.

It is after Thorin has said his goodbyes as he is walking out that he hears Kíli whispering into his mother’s ear.

“He hasn’t played the harp since Bilbo left. Don’t ask him again.”

Thorin looks back sharply to see Dís frowning down at Kíli in confusion as Fíli glances between them, at a loss. Only Tauriel sees that he has heard his nephew, and she meets his eyes helplessly before he turns quickly and slips away.

His bed is very cold when he finally settles into it.

* * *

One year after Bilbo has gone Balin finds Thorin on top of the ramparts.

It is morning and though the weather is nice Thorin feels a chill in his bones. There has been a distance around him as of late. When others speak he finds it hard to tear his mind free to listen. Every action he performs is automatic, guided by instinct and months of routine.

Whether the fog comes from the time of year and its memories Thorin can not be sure. All he knows is that in the past week he has felt dread weighing on him in a way that is all too familiar.

His cloak is blowing gently in the wind, as is his hair. There is no rain to reflect Thorin’s mood this time, but that may well change as there are clouds gathering in the east. For now the sun shines bright and he gazes out as far as his poor eyes can see, making out the dark shadow that is Mirkwood on the horizon.

Two guards are positioned at either side of the wall and every so often another pair walks through on their rounds. But they leave him well alone and Thorin is grateful for it, lost in his contemplation.

A month ago they had celebrated the anniversary of Smaug’s death and held a memorial for those killed in the following battle. Though the Company had sent an invitation to Bilbo, without Thorin’s knowledge, the Hobbit had declined.

Thorin hadn’t been surprised that he’d replied such, but the small insidious bit of hope he’d had was snuffed out with the raven’s answering letter to Bofur.

And here he is a month later standing on the ramparts he rarely visited, looking out over the plains of Erebor, Dale and what lies further in the west.

The winter this year was earlier than the last one had been. Snow covered the ground; the waterfall and Running River are frozen and Thorin’s breath fogd in front of him as it meets the air.

What was winter like in the Shire, he wonders. He had only had cause to visit in spring, and whenever he had traded in Bree it had been during warmer months.

The footsteps that sound beside him are slow and certain. Balin’s robe skims ever so slightly on the ground as he comes to a stop, resting his gloved hands on the low stone wall.

“I thought I might find you up here.”

Thorin makes no reply.

“Dwalin told me to try the side of the mountain first.” Meaning the orchard. “But I could not help but think you would not go there today.”

“Am I needed already?” He speaks reluctantly after Balin lets silence fall, obviously waiting for an answer. “Does the mountain require its king so early on such a peaceful day? Because if not I would ask that you leave me.”

Balin’s expression is so heavy with sorrow that Thorin can only glance at it for a moment before looking back over Dale and the land beyond.

“Forget Erebor.” Balin says and that makes Thorin looks back in surprise at the frustration there. “I have come to make sure you are not alone in your grief.”

He grits his teeth. “Nobody has died, Balin.”

“No, but it’s as near as.” Silence falls between them. “Staring will not bring him back.”

They have not spoken of this since that first month when Balin had snapped at him to own up to his own choices and begin ruling Erebor in earnest. It had been a repeat of the wake-up call that the others in the Company had given him since Bilbo’s departure, and the last one he had needed.

“Can you not allow me this?” Thorin begs of him softly. “I have nothing else.”

He knows what Balin wishes to say.

_And whose fault is that?_

But his friend is too kind to say it today.

* * *

Though Thorin did not care to celebrate his birthday it seems this year he is overruled.

“You did not have a celebration last year.” Dís chastises him. “But now our people are here. _I_ am here. And even if it is small, we will have a celebration.”

“How small?” He asks warily but she gives no answer.

Small as it turns out, is half of Erebor, or so it seems to Thorin.

Thankfully the meal is among the Company and their families, but that only lulls Thorin into a false state of confidence. He has asked for no presents, but it does not stop Bombur from making a cake for him, Bofur and Bifur. Or Fíli and Kíli from giving him two new beads. Balin carved him a new pipe and promises to handle the next correspondence with Thranduil, while Dwalin grumbles something about a new knife. Ori has drawn him a map of their quest with little depictions of the Company at different locations, and if Thorin had needed a few moments before he could thank him clearly, the younger Dwarf had been kind enough not to say anything. Dori promises his next clothing order will be free, and Nori offers to steal something from the Elves next time they came which Thorin laughs at but refuses. Óin and Glóin have chipped in together and bought him some new pipe weed.

And Dís, sweet but foolish Dís has waited until after their dinner to slip him a jar of honey.

“What is this?” He asks her in confusion and she just looks at him softly.

“From Beorn’s,” she says gently and Thorin loses all semblance of joy.

“I have told you Dís, you are wrong in this.”

“Until you tell me a tale that will convince me otherwise, I will not believe you.” She responds kindly, their conversation too quiet for the others to hear. “And I have already told _you_ that you can trust me.”

Thorin is not happy but she pulls away too quickly for him to correct her.

It is after the dinner that everything gets ridiculous. For his birthday Dís has arranged a ball to be had, and Thorin wishes more than anything that he could escape to the orchard for the remainder of the night.

But he is king, and it is his birthday celebration after all. Only the nobles and any guests they bring along have come, but they still fill an entire hall. A band plays in one corner and Thorin sits at a table with his family and watches the proceedings.

All around him there are candles lit and hanging from chandeliers, casting the room in a lovely light. Dwarves are either dancing or milling around the sides with drinks in hand to mingle with one another. More than one comes up to Thorin to speak to him and he talks for as long is polite before they are eventually pulled away.

A few brave souls ask him to dance and are kindly rejected. He wishes he could feel some pity in doing so.

Dís dances. She dances to many songs with a number of Dwarves. Fíli gets up a few times and Thorin notes that he dances more than one number with a particular younger Dwarrowdam with dark hair.

That is something to note, if the way Fíli keeps laughing with her is any indication.

Bombur is holding his wife Fila close and they sway with one another, lost in their own world. Glóin is much with same with Mimi. The others of the Company are either sitting nearby or dancing happily.

And then there is Kíli and Tauriel.

At first they had appeared odd, and Thorin was not been the only one to think so, if the whispers and looks from the rest of the room were to be trusted. But that hadn’t seemed to bother the couple and he can’t help but watch as they spin around the room together. It is a strange thing to see, Tauriel’s grace somehow perfectly complimenting Kíli’s swift but heavier footwork, and there is something there, a beauty to it that works.

He cannot stop watching them.

Kíli is continuously staring up at her and Thorin can easily spot the look of awe he wears. And the tenderness in Tauriel’s expression is enough to make anybody feel as if they should turn away and give the pair some privacy. Thorin would chastise them for being indecent if there had been any indecency to chastise, but it is all very restrained. Other Dwarves are making more of a display, but it is these two that Thorin watches. He watches and he yearns.

It is a fine line between jealousy and longing but he is toeing it continuously. It is impossible to see how happy his nephew is with his intended and not think that in another life, another universe, it could have been him and Bilbo.

So caught up in his thoughts is he, that he does not notice Fíli sitting beside him once more, until his heir speaks, soft and concerned. “Uncle.”

With a start Thorin looks over at him.

Where before Fíli had been full of laughter now he is made of worry. His eyes shine with it, his posture as he leans towards Thorin is like someone ready to be confided in, knowing that whatever passes between them was to remain private.

“Uncle what is it?” His golden-haired nephew begs of him. “Why do you always look so sad when you watch them together?”

Thorin breathes in shakily. He had not known he is so obvious. “I am not…”

“Whenever Tauriel and Kíli are together you get that look on your face. The others don’t notice but I have.” Fíli stares at him, never even glancing in another direction. His next sentence is hushed. “I can’t bear it.”

For a moment Thorin stares at him wildly, and he almost confesses. He almost lays everything bare, the words at the tip of his tongue, ready to fill in all of the gaps and make sense of everything that has happened in the past year and a half.

_“If you were to publicly announce both engagements, I would predict harm would fall not only to the elf but to your intended as well… I am afraid, Your Grace, it comes down to a decision between your own proposed courtship and your nephew’s… you are only the king so long as your people allow you to be…a king’s duty is first and foremost to his subjects and their happiness... I am afraid that your personal happiness must come second.”_

Hugin’s words, memorized from so long ago, swim up at that moment, halting his tongue. He glances around and catches the advisor standing to the side in a small group of other nobles, his eyes narrowed on Kíli and Tauriel as well. His distaste is clear for all to see.

No, he cannot say anything. It is far too late for that.

“There is nothing to bear.” Thorin says and his words are hollow but he still manages to speak them. That, if nothing else, is an accomplishment. “I am fine.”

The now familiar frustration crosses Fíli’s face and he suddenly reminds Thorin painfully of Dís. Both of them so sure he is heartbroken, both set on discovering the truth and trying to comfort him.

He wishes they would. He wishes he could let them.

“I just want you to be happy,” Fíli says, and the words echo what Kíli had spoken to him ages ago.

_“I just don’t understand why you won’t let yourself be happy.”_

“I am happy.” Thorin tries to make himself convincing. “I have you and your brother. Your mother. And I have Erebor.” He sighs. “Everything I ever wanted.”

“You don’t have Bilbo.”

Thorin’s glare is sharp but Fíli doesn’t waver.

“That’s why you look at them, isn’t it? Because what they’re doing, being together, you wanted that with Bilbo.” His brows furrowed. “But for some reason you didn’t let yourself have it. So now you watch them and you want what could have been.”

“That is enough, Fíli.” Thorin’s tone is as harsh as his glare. When had his sister-son become so wise? He is so close to guessing the truth. “I have told you many times to leave this subject alone.”

“I’m right though, aren’t I?” He presses. “Thorin, if you just sent for him, I know he would come back-”

“No.” Thorin says and it isn’t entirely a lie. Fíli is wrong. Yes, he looks at Kíli and Tauriel and sees what he and Bilbo could have been, but it is more than that. When he sees them he sees what he has sacrificed his own happiness for. Everyday he can see that look on Kíli’s face almost makes it worth it.

And as for asking Bilbo to return… better not to imagine such things. The others had already tried once and failed.

His nephew sits back in disappointment. “I know I’m right.”

“Be as right as you want.” Thorin says finally standing up. “The hour is late. Tell everyone I went to bed.”

“Fine.”

“Good night.”

“Night.”

He ignores the shortness and leaves, evading the curious looks that follow him. They will all continue just fine without his presence he knows. And if Fíli was able to catch the way he looked at Kíli and Tauriel, then others surely would have as well.

His destination does not end up being his bedroom but the orchard. Outside the air is warm and the flowers are beginning to lose their petals.

Absently he wanders around, taking in the fruit on the branches around him. He should allow servants in here to pluck them and bring it all to the kitchens but he finds he cannot. The idea of others coming in here is unpleasant to him.

As always he ends up in the center beside the last planted tree.

Small and sparse leaves dot its branches now and the tree barely reaches past Thorin’s waist. Sometimes he’ll stand in silence beside it for a long time and cup one of the buds reverently in his palm, waiting for when acorns will begin to grow, lost in memories.

An oak tree for Oakenshield, he has heard whispered around him, and wonders what the others must think of the heart of his little garden. Do they believe it to be vanity? Or a reminder of Azanulbizar? Has the Company followed his sister in her mad leap and believe it is some way for him to remember Beorn?

Or since they had seen him with Bilbo, been there while the two were together, do they know that somehow it is related to him? Dwalin had interrupted their conversation about the acorn, perhaps he had seen it? Maybe they know about Thorin’s request, having heard about Dís’ quest from the others in the caravan like Fila or Mimi.

It doesn’t matter, Thorin decides. What they think is up to them and has been so since Bilbo left. As he had made clear to them all.

Apparently he will have to keep making it clear to Fíli but if that is another price he has to pay, he supposes he has no choice but to do so.

Long into the night does Thorin Oakenshield stand there, and when he finally goes to bed it is with thoughts of dancing with Bilbo playing in a loop in his mind.

* * *

Nearly two years after Bilbo has gone Thorin is returning from a council meeting when he finds Bofur and Bifur having a heated discussion in the hallway. Bifur is fiddling with something in his hands and Bofur is gesturing expressively and Thorin decides that if they did not want to be intruded upon they could have found a better place to speak, so he keeps walking, meaning to pass them and keep on his way.

Bofur cuts off immediately when he looks up to see it’s Thorin coming towards them and with a quick murmur to Bifur slips into their quarters.

Bifur does not go. He stays standing in place while his hands still fiddle with what looks like one of his wooden carvings. Not quite a toy, Thorin glances at it to see. A figurine.

“Bifur,” he nods.

“Your Majesty.” The other Dwarf nods back. “A bad meeting?”

Ah. Thorin’s weariness must show on his face.

“Not bad.” He says and stops. “Pointless yes. Useless quite possibly. But not bad. I have sat through much worse.”

Bifur’s lips twitch. “That is something then.”

“Yes.”

Thorin does not want to speak of Bofur and his obvious ignorance of him, and he has no interest in prodding into their argument. Yet he also does not want to go back to his desk and work so he scrambles for a subject.

Bifur is still fidgeting and so he nods down at the wooden carving. “Your work?”

For a second Bifur seems to hesitate before nodding. “Yes.”

Thorin waits for a moment but when the offer doesn’t come he politely requests, “may I see it?”

Again that slight pause before Bifur nods quickly, decisively, and hands the object over.

It takes a moment for Thorin to realize just what it is, but when his mind catches up to what he’s seeing he stares down at the figure calmly.

It is Bilbo, for of course it is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins in a fighting stance with Sting held up and ready to swing. There are lines etched into his hair to show his curls. His eyes are wide, but his expression is determined not scared.

Thorin takes in the details of his clothing- accurate to the smallest wrinkle- and the dusting of hair on the feet.

“You did this from memory?” He asks and is surprised when his voice comes out as a rasp.

“Aye.” More hesitation. “From the night he attacked Azog. Before the Carrock.”

Yes, Thorin had realized that. He might not have seen much before he passed out from his wounds after the Goblin Tunnels, but it had been enough. Enough to recognize that Bilbo’s pose was defensive rather than offensive, and to remember that it had been Thorin that the Hobbit was guarding.

“I was going to offer it to you.” Bifur says suddenly making Thorin look up. “Bofur said I shouldn’t.”

Thorin’s mouth presses tight and he looks back down to watch his thumb stroke the small figurine. “You do not want to keep it?”

Bifur shrugs. “I can always make another. I’ve almost made the whole Company now. They’re arranged in a set above the fireplace.”

Thorin nods. “In a scene? Or differing poses?”

“A scene.” He clears his throat. “All of us at Bag-End.”

Thorin looks up in surprise. It would not have been his guess, had he cared to venture one. “Why that night?”

Another shrug. Eyes skittering away. “It was a nice evening.”

Was it? Thorin almost asks. He remembers being annoyed at Gandalf and irritated at Bilbo for his reluctance and apparent nervousness. Remembers timid Hobbits telling him the way to Bilbo’s and still losing his way twice.

He had been afraid that night. Nervous about what they were all committing to do, annoyed that Daín and the other Dwarf Lords had refused them aid. Upset that Dís had not given her approval for the venture and instead watched him leave with her boys in disappointment and anger, already preparing to grieve for the remainder of her family.

Thorin remembers singing of home and feeling the ache of the loss. It was lesser than the ache he feels now, despite being similar.

But he thinks he can imagine what Bifur means. The others had eaten a hearty meal before he had showed up, or so they’d all had told him later, and it was the first time they had truly gathered together as the Company. There had been blankets to sleep under and the warmth of a fire. An innocence and hope that had slowly abated the longer they spent on the road.

Yes, perhaps it had been a nice night. Thorin might have thought so as well if he did not remember the way he had treated Bilbo.

_“It was your singing,” Bilbo had explained to him in bed a couple of weeks after the Battle. It was only then that Thorin had thought to ask. “That’s why I first came along. Because Gandalf was right. I wanted an adventure and I heard you sing and I thought: him. If I will follow anybody it will be him._

_It had caused Thorin’s heart to clench and his shame over how he treated Bilbo to grow. “I do not deserve such loyalty.”_

_“You do.” Bilbo had kissed him softly. “And you have it. Always.”_

“This is well done.” Thorin says now, referring to Bilbo’s likeness. His grip is perhaps tighter than it needs to be. “But it does not fit in with your scene.”

“No.” Bifur admits and suddenly he is meeting Thorin’s eyes with no trouble. “Like I said, it was made for you. Not me.”

Thorin almost refuses it, but he is not so selfless as that. He had caught Ori drawing the members of the Company once not long ago and seeing Bilbo’s likeness had pierced him more than any blade. This eased that slightly.

“Thank you.”

Bifur’s head dips. “Your Majesty.”

With the carving gripped tight in his hand Thorin continues on to his rooms. Sitting at his desk he finds his eyes being pulled to Bilbo’s figure over and over again as it sits innocently in the corner.

In the end he brings it to his rooms to be placed on the bedside table amongst the family sketches he has framed. And there it remains.

* * *

When Nori returns Thorin demands Dwalin to bring him directly to his office.

“I was summoned, Your Grace?”

Nori breezes through the door easily, unconcerned with the (unnecessary) grip Dwalin has on his upper arm. The casual tone irks Thorin, as if Nori has dropped by for a brief visit after they’d met in the morning for tea, rather than returning from a journey that he has taken without Thorin’s leave. A journey which has lasted six months.

The king grits his teeth. “Sit down, Nori. Dwalin that will be all.”

“Yes Dwalin, thanks ever so much.” That familiar wicked grin has appeared as he looks back at the guard who stares stonily back. “I expect I’ll be seeing you later.”

This gets him a reaction as Dwalin’s eyes widen a bit and shoot to Thorin in panic.

Thorin sighs. As if the entire Company doesn’t know the two are shagging. Why they continue the pretence that they’re not, Thorin does not understand.

“Thank you, Dwalin.” Thorin says significantly. “Nori, shut up. You’re not being clever, only irritating.”

“Better than brooding.” Nori shoots back right as Dwalin closes the door behind him, and Thorin glares in anger. “Which we all know is your natural state these days.”

“Enough,” Thorin says tiredly. He had suspected this conversation would try his patience, but Nori, as usual, has managed to do it in less time than expected.

Out of all of the Company Nori had been the one Thorin was most wary of allowing to come on the quest with them. As a known criminal, the ‘Ri brother was somebody Thorin had heard of in irritated reports from Dwalin and the guards of the Blue Mountain jails, where the thief had escaped numerous times. It was a mixture of Dori’s pleading and promises of keeping Nori in line, and the way Dwalin’s expression turned interested at any mention of Nori’s name that had weakened Thorin’s resolve. Back then the two had only known each other from brief run ins where Dwalin had been the one to turn Nori over to other guards, or to throw him in a cell in the Blue Mountains.

 _“I’ll handle him,”_ Dwalin had sworn; and from looking at him Thorin had believed the words.

In the end though, what had decided it was Nori coming to him directly. He hadn’t seemed to have a problem meeting Thorin’s eyes, and whether it was from fearlessness or lack of respect, the king hadn’t known. Now he has long suspected it was the latter.

_“I won’t cause trouble.” Had been the promise Nori’d given Thorin after asking to join the quest. “I’m a good fighter and sneaky. If we get captured there isn’t a jail cell that could hold me for long. I’d get us all out eventually.”_

_“Why do you want to come?” Thorin had asked bluntly._

_“Well the treasure wouldn’t go wrong.” Nori’s grin had been sharp until he seemed to remember who he was speaking to, and then it fell from his face. “And I’d like to bargain for my name to be cleared as well. If possible.” When Thorin didn’t reply Nori had looked away. “Mostly I’m going for Ori. He’s young and foolish enough to want to see the world without realizing he’ll get hurt along the way. I’m going to protect him.”_

_“I thought that was what Dori was coming for.”_

_“Dori,” Nori had twisted his brother’s name a bit. “He’ll mother Ori sure enough, like always, but that’s not what he needs. He needs to learn how to stand on his own. I’ll help with that.”_

_Thorin had considered him. It was true that Nori was irritating to a ruling king, but on a quest like this he would likely prove to be invaluable. And if they succeeded and Erebor was reclaimed Thorin would need somebody like him. Someone who could gather information, report any unrest, that sort of thing._

_There was even murmurs that Nori was an assassin for hire. Though Thorin was unsure if the gossip was true he wasn’t willing to leave him here with Dís and risk finding out._

_No, better to watch this one._

_“Very well. If you help us win Erebor back I will pardon you for all crimes committed and you will be so rich you will never have cause to steal again. In return you will aid us to the best of your abilities and take care not to cause any trouble or break the law within my sight.” Their eyes had met and held. “Do we have a deal?”_

_That time Nori’s grin had been wicked._ _“We do, my lord.”_

“Enough,” Thorin repeats now even though Nori hasn’t said anything else. “You know why you’re here.”

“On the contrary, Dwalin couldn’t seem to tell me why you had demanded I see you the moment I stepped foot back home. I haven’t even greeted my brothers yet.”

“Nori.”

A sigh reaches his ears as Thorin rubs his temples with his eyes closed from a forming headache.

“Surely you can guess where I went. Fíli didn’t tell you?”

“He told me he sent you away on an urgent trip to the Blue Mountains. When I asked what the purpose of the trip was, he acted rather cagey and could only give vague details.” Thorin raises an eyebrow. “I was hoping you might enlighten me.”

For a moment Nori looks surprised but it’s carefully hidden. “Is that an order, my king?”

“It will be if you don’t tell me now.”

“I did go to the Blue Mountains.”

Thorin waits. “Yes?”

“And I spoke with some old contacts there. Took a read of the place.”

Brows furrowed, Thorin asks, “for what purpose?”

“To see what was being said.” Nori shrugs. “They’ve all heard of your bout of gold sickness. And Kíli’s intention to wed Tauriel eventually. Weren’t too happy about that.”

“I expect not,” Thorin murmurs. “Though I still fail to see why you had to travel such a long way for so little.”

He had thought perhaps… but it seems Fíli had not been hiding anything from him. Nori had simply gone to Ered Luin.

“It’s different, being there in person. People are more likely to trust a face than words on a paper. Besides, I did some recruiting.”

“Recruiting?”

“I need some more people working under me here to properly get the run of things. I asked a few old friends to come to Erebor. Some even said yes.”

“Lovely.” Thorin grumbles. “This all feels like something that should have been run by me. I am after all your king and you are my…”

“What?” Nori grins again. “Your Head Spy? Assassin? Gatherer of Information? As I recall I was never given an official title beyond Lord.”

“And you never will be as long as you keep your current position.” Thorin’s tone softens only slightly. “You cannot just leave whenever you wish, Nori, not when you work for me in such a way. I should have been made aware.”

Nori blows out a long breath. “Yes alright, that’s true. And to be fair I thought you had been. When Fíli instructed me to go, I figured he’d gotten your approval or would, before I left. It never occurred to me he didn’t.”

“You didn’t suspect when I didn’t give the order myself?”

A shifty look is his answer. “Well, no.”

Thorin’s lips press together and he thinks quickly. “There is more. Something else my nephew told you to do which you both thought to keep from me. Tell me.”

“There isn’t. Honest.” Nori says defensively but if Thorin’s stubbornness is good for anything it is for waiting out others, and eventually the other Dwarf sighs in defeat. “Only that I stopped by the Shire on my way.”

And there it is.

“Did you now?”

Nori nods warily.

So that explains it.

“What did Fíli have you do?” Thorin asks though he can guess. “A mission I was meant to remain unaware of. One concerning- the Burglar. What was it?”

“Nothing, it was just a visit.” Nori licks his lips before biting the lower one gently, worrying it between his teeth. “And I might have asked Bilbo to come back to Erebor.”

Thorin sits back in his chair.

To say he is stunned would not be entirely accurate. He had suspected, when Fíli had said Nori’s mission was to Ered Luin, that the ‘Ri brother would stop at the Shire. He had even thought Nori might try and bring Bilbo back with him. Even after nearly 3 years has passed.

But to suspect something and to have it confirmed is entirely different.

Yet Bilbo was not here. Which only means one thing.

“He refused you.”

Nori nods. “Funny that. Didn’t seem like he wanted to, if I had to guess. But he hated to see me go.”

Thorin looks away. “Were you there long?”

“A week.” Nori shrugs.

Thorin can resist no longer and his voice is desperately soft when he asks. “How is he?”

Whatever flickers in Nori’s eyes is gone too quickly for Thorin to identify.

“He’s okay. Back to his doilies and handkerchiefs. He told me he writes a fair bit, and reads. His garden is something to see too.

“But he’s not settled.” Now Nori leans forward a bit. “Can’t seem to fall back into the peaceful lull of the Shire, he told me. Too quiet, not enough to do. The neighbours gossip about him, and he hung up the map in plain view for anybody to see. Once he went to the market to get some groceries and I snooped around. Found the mithril shirt in his room.”

Thorin glances at him sharply. “You should not have done that.”

“Ah, he’ll never know.” Nori shrugs. “I don’t know, Thorin, he’s restless. Even mentioned he has a hankering to go back to Rivendell.” His nose wrinkles. “And he mentioned missing the mountains. I think he might go to Ered Luin eventually.”

“But apart from the restlessness,” because Thorin needs to know. “He is well?”

Is there someone else? He wants to ask but he knows he cannot.

“I guess.” Nori purses his lips. “Lonely though.”

Thorin is surprised when he feels disappointment along with relief.

Bilbo is okay. Lonely but okay.

Thorin does not want him to be lonely, but if Nori says he is alright then Thorin will believe him. Nori is more perceptive than most.

“He misses us.” Nori finishes and Thorin hears the unspoken words that follow. _He misses you._

He only nods, thinking the words over. It is only when he catches Nori watching him with open curiosity and suspicion that he thinks to hide whatever expression is on his face.

“Fíli should not have sent you out. He had no right to do so.” Thorin says. “In the future you will not accept such an undertaking from anyone but your king, do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Nori says and Thorin suspects that he understands more than just the warning. “Was there anything else?”

“Bilbo was the true purpose of your trip, wasn’t he?” Thorin asks before he can stop himself. “The Blue Mountains was a cover?”

“Maybe.” Nori admits. “You might want to ask Fíli about that.”

“Oh I intend to.”

Nori nods and rises, making his way to the door. It’s open but he stops in the middle of it, turning to look back at Thorin.

“He asked about you, by the way.” Another shrug accompanies the soft voice, softer than Thorin has ever heard Nori be before. “I told him you were well.”

Thorin’s heart gives a painful lurch even as he nods. “Good.”

His conversation with Fíli does not end well, and after storming out of his nephew’s room Thorin is left with no explanations. But his nephew’s disappointment at Bilbo’s refusal to return to Erebor is clear and it makes Thorin wary.

If Fíli is plotting something then Thorin intends to stop it. There can be no chance of Bilbo coming back here, none at all, because if he does Thorin is hopeless to refuse the longing of his heart any longer.

If Bilbo is brought back to him, by the will of Mahal or some other fate, then he will not send him away a second time and they will be together.

That, Thorin knows, is a certainty.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!! This chapter seems really short to me but it's over 5k words so idk, but hopefully it's enough to tide you all over for a little while.
> 
> Namad- sister

Three years after Bilbo has gone Thorin gives his permission for Kíli to officially begin courting Tauriel.

Their commitment to one another has been an open secret in Erebor since the Battle, but it makes no difference. An official announcement is made, any protests are either ignored or overturned as Thorin and his officials counter them with logic and explain the situation.

Tauriel is Kíli’s One. Mahal has forged them from the same flame and molded them using the same stone. To question the union was to question the gods.

After that there are much less protests.

It helps, Thorin thinks, that people have seen the two together for the past few years.

Kíli’s regard for the Elf is obvious and unquestionable. But it is not him that the other Dwarves doubt, it is Tauriel. Yet her feelings for Kíli are just as apparent, though in different ways. At state dinners the nobles would follow the pair with their eyes and see how they moved in sync. The two would go hunting together on the side of the mountain and journey to Dale and gain the attention of all who saw them.

Funnily enough the Men seemed to receive them easier than the Dwarves did. Though Thorin suspects that easy acceptance comes from the fact that neither of the pair are Human. Were it somebody from the Men’s own race with an Elf, for example, he did not think their respect or approval would be so easily won.

But they are not Thorin’s concern. The Ereborean Dwarves are.

So Thorin has Nori and his people spread the truth of Tauriel’s part in their quest. Soon all of Erebor hears how Tauriel had saved Kíli’s life over and over. Her banishment was whispered about, and the reason given for it is that Thranduil had banished her for her love.

This is a particular stroke of genius by Nori, for it allows the Dwarves to focus their ire and insult onto the Elf King rather than Tauriel, something many of them are more than happy to do.

Opinion of her begins to change and it’s obvious when it does.

Kíli had given her two courting gifts by the time Thorin notices it. On a royal procession to Dale they marched on their rams to the rebuilt city, crowds on either side cheering their names. It was only after a few minutes that he noticed Tauriel’s name interspersed with those of his and his blood kin.

It does not stop there. Soon Thorin has reports from Dwalin, Kíli and Tauriel herself of other Dwarves asking to spar with her. If she had not already won their respect for her courage to stand up to her former king, she gained it along with her victory in the fight.

Bombur is not the only cook for the royal family, and where before only he had respected Tauriel’s wishes and prepared meatless dishes, soon they are presented to her unasked for. The clothing in Erebor’s markets began to use hints of her styles. Óin has long worked alongside her in healing, willing to learn all she could teach him, but soon there are other healers coming to her with questions, and asking for help if there is no other (or better) option available.

These things are small but they are there, and Thorin marks it for the progress it is.

Perhaps he has been too hasty in believing Hugin so easily, he thinks to himself on particularly lonely nights. Maybe all it took was time and a deserving person to earn the respect and approval of the Dwarves of Erebor.

Throughout it all, Thorin makes sure his support of the union is well known, as does Fíli and Dís. Though Dís’ harsh reception of Tauriel upon her arrival at the mountain had been public and seen by many, it is well mended now, and Kíli’s mother makes sure all know it.

The two women go on walks of the kingdom together. They shopped together, they sparred together. Dís would always reach up to rest a hand lightly on Tauriel’s forearm as they did, making a public statement of approval.

It isn’t a unanimous change of heart towards her, not by far, but it is not nothing either. There are still threats written, though less and mostly of a lesser nature. One Dwarf spits at Tauriel as she passes with Dís and it takes three guards to pull Thorin’s sister from the Dwarf in her anger. Tauriel tells Thorin Dís had smiled as the piece of filth was locked in a jail cell for a week for his rudeness.

Someone came to Thorin to publicly protest the courting, in one of his afternoons of hearing disputes of the public, and Thorin sent him away, repeating his approval of the match and vowing his support once more.

But as months pass after the announcement of the betrothal, things die down. There are still whispers, but now there are people willing to come to the couple’s defense as well. Dwarves willing to listen, willing to open their hearts and change their minds.

Their race is stubborn, but they are not cruel. Thorin is proud of them for that.

Within a year the courting gifts have been given and the engagement is announced. The wedding is to take place in six months.

And so the invitations are sent out.

* * *

With just over a month left before the wedding is scheduled to happen Thorin is in his study working. Óin has come and gone that morning with requests for more of the herbs to be allotted to the healers rather than the cooks, and Thorin has marked it down to discuss with Balin later.

Right now he is going over wedding preparations with Dís and Fíli.

“Outside?” He paces in front of his desk, absently hitting Fíli’s boots off of its surface. His nephew grins from Thorin’s chair but drags his feet to the floor anyway. “Dwarves have never held a wedding outside. No.”

“Tauriel is no Dwarf,” Fíli reminds him and Thorin scowls. “What?”

“I am well aware, thank you.”

“Oh hush, Thorin, it’s not the end of the world.” Dís drags the proposed venue plans towards herself. “It will be the middle of summer, why can’t they hold it outside? It’s what Tauriel would like.”

“I’m sure if somebody only explained to her our customs-”

His door banging open makes them all jump, and Thorin whirls around, hand going to his waist where Orcrist would usually sit. But it is just after lunch, and he is unarmed, so his hand falls away helplessly. Thorin has only his fists and the axe he keeps strapped under his desk.

It doesn’t matter anyway because his visitor is Dwalin. Thorin has never seen his friend pant so heavily and from the blotches on his face it is clear he has been running.

A rare sight, Thorin knows and immediately he is filled with concern.

“Thorin,” Dwalin gasps, bending over at the knees to regain air. Thorin waves the guards at the door away and they turn back to stand out of sight of the open entrance. “Thorin you need to come.”

“What has happened?” He demands while striding over and pulling Dwalin up. “Where am I needed?”

“At the gates- I saw him-”

“Who?” Thorin asks, looking over when Fíli jumps up as if shocked and hearing as his nephew makes a strangled noise. “Fíli?”

“Here we are, here we are.” A falsely cheerful voice from the hallway carries and Thorin looks out, lost in his confusion. If he didn’t know any better he would have said the voice belonged to-

The Wizard appears at the door and only has to duck slightly to step inside, smiling at them all in clear warning. He manages to make it look only slightly patronizing.

-Gandalf.

Irritation rises quickly, but is quickly snuffed out when all of Thorin’s attention is taken in an instant by the person waiting behind their surprise guest.

Light brown hair. Hazel eyes. Waistcoat on, walking stick tucked under his arm, and large hairy feet nicely combed for all to see, the Hobbit looks at them with a crookedly nervous smile.

The air is stolen from his lungs and his hands abandon Dwalin to fall at his sides. His heart gives a powerful jolt.

“Bilbo?” Thorin breathes out.

The name is wrenched from him, falling from his mouth unwittingly. And then, because his control has left him in the span of a moment, he repeats himself, because that name is all he can think of, all his heart can feel.

“Bilbo.”

Seeing him is like a blow, and it is a pain worse than that of Azog’s sharpest blow that courses through him at the sight of the frozen Halfling in the doorway.

He sounds much too desperate. Vulnerable like he hasn’t been since the ramparts. But there is nothing he can do to help it.

The Hobbit shifts anxiously in the doorway and skirts a quick bow. “At you service.”

His eyes take in the Dwarves around them quickly before falling to a stop on Thorin as if he can’t help himself. His mouth twitches but it is not quite in a smile. “Hello, Thorin.”

Oh Valar, he has not heard his name from Bilbo’s lips in _so long_.

“It’s- you. What-” his voice is haggard, and he takes a step forward before stopping immediately as Bilbo jerks a small distance back.

The reminder is well timed and Thorin swallows, lifting his chin and allowing his expression to close off in a way all too familiar after these four and a half years. “What are you doing here, Burglar?”

Bilbo’s eyes flash and Thorin sees the way his features tightens minutely. He also notes that Dís is looking between them with something close to shock on her face and Fíli is tense at Thorin’s side, ready to step in should the need arise.

Gandalf is watching Thorin closely and the Dwarf King wishes he would not. He already feels flayed open for everybody to see.

“I was invited. For the wedding.” Bilbo’s words are simple, but his tone is fierce as if daring Thorin to kick him out, even now.

Fíli shifts uncomfortably beside him and Thorin glances at his heir to see him looking nervously back.

Ah. His sister-sons have been interfering again.

He clenches his fists, frustration so strong that it has the possibility of becoming anger bubbling in his chest. “I see.”

Bilbo also glances at Fíli and now he appears hurt. “I thought you knew.”

Thorin’s lips thin. “I did not. But now that you are here there is nothing to be done.”

Dís gasps at his harsh words and even Fíli looks over at him in shock. Gandalf’s eyes narrow.

“Welcome back to Erebor, Master Baggins.”

Thorin sees the anger in Bilbo as he recovers and bites out his reply.

“Thank you so much for the kind reception,” he spits. “If you would all excuse me.”

And then without so much as a by your leave from Thorin, he turns, and slips out of the room as easily as he had come in.

“Now Thorin-”

“No.” He stops the Wizard in his tracks. “Go after him. You too Fíli. Make sure- gather the Company to greet him if they have not already.”

Gandalf looks thunderous, but as he glances at the open door he makes a decision and sighs.

“Very well. But you have not heard the last of this from me.”

“That would just be too much to ask,” Thorin mutters and Dís is staring at him aghast. He doesn’t care, cannot care. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion and he is helpless to do anything but watch and listen to himself as if from afar. “As for the rest of you, leave me.”

“Thorin.”

“I said leave me. We are done for today.”

Whatever is on his face must be enough to convince Dwalin and Fíli. They both leave, shooting looks at Dís who is staring at Thorin as if she doesn’t know him at all.

“Go Dís.”

“I will not.”

“I was not asking.”

“You-”

“ _Out_!” Thorin yells and Dís’ eyes widen in surprise. “I am your king, am I not? Is it so hard to follow a simple order?”

“You may be king,” Dís sounds furious. “But before that you have always been my brother. And I will not leave you like this.”

“You have no choice.” Thorin replies. “Believe me, sister, whatever words you wish to throw at me could not possibly make me feel any worse than I already do. Leave. Now.”

It surprises Thorin when she does. He stares at the slammed door and shudders, feeling the brunt of what he has just done.

He has shown his hand. No, not only his hand. His heart. Held out for them all to see. If there had been any lingering doubt over what had been between himself and Bilbo, he has just erased it. None of the others could have escaped the fact that, for some reason, he is hurting over the Halfling.

With a yell he surges towards the door and bars it. Then he paces, mind racing even as he begins to feel dread and regret flow over him.

But even that is pushed aside. The surprise is too great, too much to overcome and Thorin feels something pull inside of him, desperate to find Bilbo and be near his One after so long apart.

Bilbo is here. Home.

And Thorin has pushed him further away than ever. His stricken expression is still clear in Thorin’s mind’s eye and only now does he realize there had been hope there, an emotion quickly snuffed out by Thorin’s hurtful reception.

He sinks into his chair and hangs his head in his hands.

* * *

It does not surprise him that it’s Dís who comes in first. She knows the passages in these tunnels better than even him. The door that is in his office, hidden behind a tapestry, is connected to his living quarters, and Thorin made use of it quickly after unbarring the main office door. Let the others search for him in there as he sits in front of his fire, lost in thought.

He had not allowed himself to wallow in self-pity and remorse for long. No, he had given a message to one of the armed guards at his door, determined to take at least a small step towards making amends, and he hopes Dori and Bofur will oblige him.

If Bilbo is to stay, and Thorin sorely wishes he will, then he will need rooms. Rooms in this section of the mountain.

It does not matter that the -Ur brothers had eventually moved a bit further into Erebor, closer to the public living quarters and their respective workplaces. The majority of the Company still remained in the royal wing of the kingdom, and Thorin suspects Bilbo will be most comfortable here as well. It offers a bit more in the ways of privacy at least, and will spare him any gawking from Dwarves desperate to catch a glimpse of the Company’s Hobbit.

Bilbo will have rooms here nearby. And those rooms need to be furnished.

“Tell them to use whatever they can find that they suppose Master Baggins will appreciate. Remind them to think of Bag-End.”

“Yes sire,” Caan had bowed his head quickly and gone to find the nearest runner, or Dori or Bofur themselves, whoever he saw first.

After that Thorin had paced, wondering what else needed to be done. Bombur will already be planning some sort of meal he is sure, but what else would Bilbo like?

_The orchard_ his thoughts hiss at him, but Thorin shies away from the idea. Despite the fact that he had built that orchard for Bilbo, he feels it would be in poor taste to show him it now. The gesture might be read as a way of Thorin trying to guilt Bilbo into something, or pressuring him in some way.

Besides, that orchard had been a labor of love, the best Thorin could do. He will not give it to Bilbo after he has behaved so horribly to him.

With no other ideas for what could bring Bilbo comfort coming to mind, Thorin then does what he vowed he would not.

He hides. Using the tunnel from his office space to his own living quarters he passes through his eating area to stop in his living room. After making up the fire he lets the gem and ore in the rock walls catch the light, before sitting down and hoping for just a little bit of time to himself so that he can think and plan his next move.

But his sister is too smart to be underestimated. The passage to his living room is opened hours after he had sent them all away. She steps out from it, and it is not anger on her face any longer, nor shock. Only a horrible, pitying sadness, and that is worse.

He does not look at her, even when she speaks. Her tone is heavy, and she obviously expects something from him, but Thorin is too wrung out to give it or bother worrying over hurting others further. His own pain is too great.

His attitude suits her own. Her greeting is blunt.

“It was never Beorn was it?” She asks while moving towards him, and Thorin shakes his head tiredly.

“No. Not Beorn.”

His sister swallows as she nods to herself. “It was Bilbo.”

Thorin’s eyes fall closed and he breathes out shakily. “Yes. It is Bilbo.”

He can’t meet her stare as she says, “I should have known from the beginning. Fíli and Kíli tried to convince me…”

“You could not have.” Thorin offers, finally lifting his pain filled eyes to hers. “I did all I could to keep it secret.”

“You’ve always been a horrid liar, Thorin. I am appalled I did not realize from that fact alone. My own arrogance at believing you’d proved me right about Beorn kept me from the truth.” She sighs. “You did try to tell me I was wrong if I remember correctly.”

“Yes.”

“But it is not your terrible acting that should have alerted me,” Dís continues making him look at her questioningly. “I should have known from the moment that I met Bilbo.”

He blinks. “How?”

Her small smile is crooked and unhappy. “I don’t think I ever told you, but we met him and Gandalf on the road on our way here. The caravan I mean.”

Thorin feels all of the blood drain from his face and his mouth go dry. “All you ever said of it was that he tried to return the Arkentsone.”

“Yes you’re right.” She shakes her head. “I always thought he behaved a bit strange.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Gandalf seemed skittish, eager to leave, and a part of Bilbo did too but there was something… he seemed so sad to say goodbye to me, you see. And the way he spoke of you…”

“Do not.”

“I should have known from the moment he said your name that he was in love with you.” Dís unknowingly breaks Thorin’s heart all over again with her words. “I merely chalked his oddities up to his being a Hobbit.”

Thorin sinks further into the armchair, watching the fire and lost in thought. His fingers go white from gripping the armrests so tightly, and he hears Dís continue speaking as if she is far away, or he is underwater.

“Did you love him?”

Thorin swallows. “Yes.”

“And now? I saw your face earlier. Heard it in your voice.”

It is a heavy silence that sits between them before Thorin says, voice loaded with implication, “I will never stop.”

He hears her surprised gasp, and she moves forward quickly, grasping his left arm with tight fingers.

“But that- Thorin tell me this is only love and nothing more.” She shakes him when he does not answer. “Tell me he is not your One!”

He meets her eyes slowly. “I cannot.”

Her fingers release him like his touch burns her and he looks back to the fire. He knows what she’s thinking. Neither of them had expected Thorin to have a One and he had given up hope for it. Many Dwarves did not have a mate and fell in love anyway. Some were like Balin and remained alone all their lives, happy to be solitary.

Thorin had always thought the occasional loneliness he felt was shared by all. He had resigned himself to making a marriage of convenience or alliance back in his youth when he couldn’t find his One in Erebor.

And then he’d met Bilbo.

When Dís speaks again it is in a whisper, and her voice is horror struck. “What in Mahal’s forge happened between you two to make you part?”

He swallows. “I sent him away.”

“Why?” She sounds almost scared to ask and he whips his head around, meeting her accusatory stare.

“I had been told,” he says slowly, “that my relationship with Bilbo added to that of Kíli and Tauriel would be too much for Erebor. That it would endanger the monarchy.”

Dís stares at him aghast. “But he is your One.”

Thorin inclines his head. “I was warned that would not have been enough.”

Dís pauses, allowing his words to sink in. Thorin turns back to stare at the fire.

Only to flinch as Dís smacks him on the back of the head. “You giant, beard-shaving, pointy-eared idiot!”

He lifts his face. “Excuse me?”

Shock fills him when he sees the tears in her eyes. “You heard me. I am- I have never been more disgusted with anybody in my life! You- the level of stupidity, the complete selfishness of you sending Bilbo away- Thorin, I can barely stand to look at you!”

“Dís, it has hurt nobody more than myself-”

“Exactly!” She yells and then calms marginally, reining in her tone. “Exactly. And even then, Thorin, you may be wrong, for Bilbo was also alone all of these years. And he believed all this time that you did not love him! Mahal and Yavanna, you have behaved so disgustingly…”

“ _Namad_.”

“No! No, Thorin, do not n _amad_ me.” She’s shaking from fury and Thorin stands to move towards her but she backs away quickly. He has never seen Dís so upset. “You don’t realize what you’ve done. Most Dwarves die without their One, Thorin, you know that. The need to be with them is too strong and if they are separated… I lost Víli and I would give anything, absolutely anything to see him again.” Hurt crosses her expression. “And you saw me after he was gone. You saw what I went through and how long it took for me to pull myself back into a semblance of normal for my boys. More than anybody, you know how hard that was for me. You have seen other Dwarves mourn as their other halves were killed in our battles. But you have found your One and he loves you, has admitted as much, and agreed to be with you for the rest of your lives, and you threw it all away?”

Thorin freezes. He had not thought of it like that before.

Of course Dís is right. To her he must seem the most selfish and ungrateful Dwarf to ever live.

“You are thoughtless and cruel.” She spits and he flinches. “And I am ashamed to call you my brother. Any misery you feel or have felt is well deserved, and I hope you suffer from it for the rest of your days.”

And then she spins around to leave, slamming the door behind her and leaving Thorin to stare helplessly after her before he goes into his bedroom and slams that door as well.

It does not help.

* * *

When he is back in his office after stewing for some time, there is a timid knock on the door.

He hesitates for a moment before sighing. It is likely Balin, coming back to chastise him some more, even though he only left what seems like minutes ago. Or Dwalin with the same intent, though Thorin’s closest friend would never knock so quietly.

Anybody except Gandalf, Thorin prays as he calls out, “enter.”

He should have known that it would be Bilbo. The Hobbit has always been braver than him.

“Master Baggins.”

He does not allow his tongue to slip again, but there is still surprise in his words as he stands quickly. Nervously he tamps down any anger that may bubble up unexpectedly, his harsh greeting from earlier still stretched out between them. Now that there is nobody around for Thorin to posture for he feels a bit more at ease.

Not much, because the sight of Bilbo makes him jittery like a Dwarfling. But a bit.

“What can I do for you?”

“I came,” Bilbo begins before looking away in frustration.

Thorin doesn’t mind the pause as it gives him time to look his fill. Bilbo looks good. Better than Thorin can remember since Bag-End. He’s obviously been eating properly, and there is sun on his face and hands. He’s well-groomed for having been on the road so long, and with no hint of tear or tatter to his clothes.

His hair is a bit longer than Thorin remembers it usually being and it makes his hands twitch behind his back.

Thorin has wanted to seek him out all day, bubbling with apologies. The angry words of his sister and Balin who had come to him afterwards were almost forgotten in the face of his yearning to see Bilbo.

But if he were to apologize he would tell everything. If he were to show Bilbo the slightest inch of kindness or warmth he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from melting completely.

It is one thing to imagine having Bilbo back with him again and envision the heroic things he would say and do to win him back. It is quite another to be faced with the prospect of actually doing those things.

Thorin needs to be smart about this, and that means as much as he might want to pull Bilbo to him and feel their skin against one another, as much as he needs to apologize and beg for understanding, if not forgiveness, Thorin cannot. Not yet.

He has learned from the recklessness of his youth.

“I came to tell you,” Bilbo begins again, stronger this time. “That when I visited Bard on my way here he offered to put me up in Dale. So if you wish me to go, I need not stay in Erebor’s walls.”

Whatever Thorin had expected it is not that.

Bilbo swallows. “But I would ask that you let me stay. At least for the wedding.” His eyes turn harder, flinty. “I did come quite a long way you know.”

Finally Thorin finds his tongue. “You wish to stay in Dale?”

Bilbo frowns at him. “Is that not what you want?”

“No.” Thorin says and then looks away. “I- if you would like to spend your visit here you are more than welcome. There have already been rooms prepared for you.”

“Well… alright then.” Bilbo looks wrongfooted. “For the entire month?”

“For as long as you have planned.” Thorin says and snaps his mouth shut before it runs away with him.

“Okay.” Bilbo still looks thrown. “I will. Thank you.”

Seconds tick by in awkward silence and Thorin can no longer help himself. “Master Baggins.”

The Hobbit looks up from frowning at his feet to meet Thorin’s eyes in surprise at the soft tone. It must be jarring, Thorin thinks wildly, to suffer his many mood swings; but he has no choice. Not anymore. He has to say it.

“I need to apologize to you. My words when we last spoke were…”

What? Dishonest? Horrible? Cruel?

All of those things and more.

“Shameful. And I would take them back. I have regretted-” His teeth make a sound from how hard he snaps them closed together. “There is much I regret. I expect no forgiveness, but I want you to know that I am sorry for what I did.”

Bilbo’s eyes are wide, and he doesn’t even twitch for so long that Thorin moves to go and ensure he’s alright.

Just as he takes a first step however, Bilbo snaps out of his daze and his eyes narrow.

Thorin stops.

“Apologize?” Bilbo repeats and though his voice is even, Thorin knows the wealth of emotion Bilbo must be holding back. He sees the flare of not only anger, but hurt as well.

He winces. “I could not let you go on thinking that I am not sorry.”

“Sorry? For what exactly?” Bilbo asks and Thorin stops. “Throwing me out, forcing me to leave my friends and everything I had grown to love? Or lying to me?”

“Lying?” Fear twists in his stomach.

“You remain unmarried.” Bilbo cocks his head. “And I have heard you do not even entertain conversation of courting. So that load of- of trash you told me about my having to go so you could find your One, what would you call that except lies? The truth, which you were too ashamed to say to my face, is that you just did not want to be with me. And so you sent me away in the cruelest way possible.”

“No-”

“Do you know what it was like for me?” Bilbo demands of him and Thorin stares helplessly. “To find the Arkenstone in my pack when we made it to Greenwood? Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He can’t help but take a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself. “I had hoped you would be pleased.”

“Pleased?” Bilbo asks, and Thorin is appalled at the way his voice wavers. Guilt and shame refills him with a vengeance. “Thorin you’d kicked me out. Thrown me away as if I wasn’t even-. And then you give me the Arkenstone and a note and I- you daft Dwarf, what was I meant to think when I read this?”

He pulls an old and weathered piece of paper from his pocket and thrusts it at Thorin, who takes it automatically. He knows what it will be even before he unfolds it with trembling fingers, recognizing his handwriting and noting the smudges of dirt and fingerprints.

There are a few dried wet spots as well and he tells himself they were caused by rain rather than Bilbo’s tears.

The old ink looks up at him in judgement, dull and faded after all of this time.

_Bilbo,_

_This is yours. It always will be._

_I wish you all the best._

“You and your blasted note,” Bilbo spits the sentence out like a curse, looking up at him with shining eyes. “What were you trying to do, Thorin, pay me off? Give me hope? Don’t you realize how cruel it was to send the Heart of the Mountain- the _King’s Jewel_ \- with me and expect me not to read into the gesture?”

“I- I’m sorry.” He looks back down at the note in shock, resisting the urge to crumple it in his fist. “I never thought-”

“No.” Bilbo looks to slowly be regaining composure of himself. “No, you obviously didn’t. And the Arkenstone, Thorin, what on Middle Earth were you thinking? There was a reason I barely took any of the treasure with me, don’t you know that?”

He had thought it merely because of the haste with which Bilbo had left. One week was not nearly enough time to pack a fourteenth share of Erebor’s treasure.

“What was the reason?”

“I wanted no part of it.” Bilbo’s voice is hard. “You’d made it clear exactly how welcome I was and that the treasure belonged here, in Erebor, for the Dwarves. I was never one of you, not really. You said so yourself. And I didn’t want the reminder.”

Thorin can do nothing but watch him in disbelief. “Bilbo…”

When the Hobbit stops talking and looks at him Thorin can’t find the words to say what he wants. All he can do is realize, again, just how badly he’s ruined everything. How badly his actions have been misconstrued. He wants to apologize. He needs to say something, anything, that will make Bilbo understand he was just as vital on the quest as any other. To make him see that Thorin hadn’t thought Bilbo was anything less than their equal since the Carrock, and regretted it had taken him that long to realize and stop running from the depths of his own feelings.

He wants to tell Bilbo that he holds claim to every single thing in this mountain, just as much as Thorin. That anything Thorin has is his, would be his, if he did so much as ask.

But the words don’t come.

The Hobbit’s face shutters as the silence stretches out between them.

“Right.” He nods, but it’s more to himself than Thorin. “No need to feel guilty, you only told me the truth after all.” A shaky pause as the sarcasm falls away. “If you had only said that I was not enough for you I would have understood. What is a mere Hobbit to a Dwarven king?” He licks his lips. “I might have even left on my own after that. You did not have to send me away. You didn’t have to lie.”

Bilbo looks away so he doesn’t see Thorin exhale like the air has been punched from him.

“Please,” Thorin begs him. It’s all he can do. “Please just keep the stone.”

“No.”

Bilbo sounds cold but beneath that he sounds hurt, and Thorin is about to reach out before the Hobbit pulls the Arkenstone from a pocket of his tunic and puts it down on Thorin’s desk loudly. He could have thrown it on there and it wouldn’t have sounded any louder to the Dwarf in the crushing silence between them.

“Take it back. Tell the Dwarves you found it deep in a mine or someone returned it to you, I couldn’t care less. If I never see it again it will be too soon.”

Thorin looks up from it to meet his eyes, and he sees it, no matter how hard Bilbo tries to hide. The pain and the vulnerability there.

He wonders what Bilbo sees on his own expression.

Whatever it is it doesn’t please him, and Bilbo’s fierce expression cracks, just for a second before he wipes it carefully blank and steps back hurriedly.

Thorin can think of nothing to say except, “very well.”

Again Bilbo seems to waver before he straightens up, the old fierceness Thorin was so familiar with coming back to him like armour. “I’ll stay out of your way while I’m here. Hopefully you won’t even notice me.”

Impossible, Thorin wants to say. I would notice you in a crowd of thousands. I would know you if I was robbed of every sense but one. Your smell, the way you feel and taste, the sound of your footsteps and voice… they are all as known to me as my own.

Instead he says, “you don’t have to do that.”

Bilbo’s smile is crooked and anything but happy.

“I do.”

And then he takes another step back.

“Take care, Thorin.”

Before Thorin can reply the Hobbit has turned around and left, the door shutting quietly behind him, leaving Thorin with nothing but a note in his hand and the Arkenstone on his desk.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, you lovely readers, I don't even know what to say. The response to the last chapter absolutely blew me away, the comments I got are just... <3 You're all so so amazing and because of that amazingness I have decided to post an extra chapter this week! This is a special thank you to you all, your comments gave me the motivation to edit and post!   
> (I also have a bit of extra time with classes and work rn, but that is by the by. Mostly it's for you and your loveliness.   
> Endless hugs <3 I hope you enjoy watching Thorin bare his soul to everyone.

Thorin must admit he’s surprised Gandalf waits until evening to come.

“You were not at dinner.” The Wizard remarks as he leans against the closed door of Thorin’s office. “Many things I know you to be, Thorin Oakenshield, but I had not thought a coward among them.”

“Say what you will Gandalf.” He sighs and settles in his chair resigning himself to the imminent discussion. “I am prepared to hear it.”

“Oh, there are many things I would like to say.” Gandalf huffs. “But I have learned from my mistakes, Dwarf King, even if you have not. So I think I would ask for your reasons for your actions of the past five years, and then I will decide how foolish you have been.”

Thorin grits his teeth though he had not expected any kinder. “And if my reasons are my own?”

“We are well past that.” Gandalf leans forward in the chair he has taken. His trademark robes pool on the ground as he sits in the too small chair. “I do not think I need to tell you just what you have done. From your face I think you know full well.”

“Yet you doubt my judgement?”

“I do. Anything that makes both you and Bilbo so unhappy cannot be for the better. So again, I would ask your reasons.”

It can only be the events of the day that makes Thorin give in so easily. “This will stay between us?”

Gandalf’s eyebrows pull together in displeasure. “If it must.”

“I would have your word.”

The Wizard gives it and haltingly Thorin begins. He tells Gandalf of choosing Kíli and Tauriel’s happiness over his own, and how he had been sure Bilbo would be happy once back in the Shire, at least after a while. Thorin tells him about the threats to Tauriel that have almost stopped these days, and that Bilbo would not have escaped such terrorizations either. He speaks of the unrest at his coronation which only seemed to prove Hugin’s warnings.

“Oh my.” The Wizard sits back, obviously shaken. “Give me a moment, I find myself at a loss for words.”

That must be a first, Thorin thinks uncharitably to himself, but he gives the Wizard his space. His throat feels raw from speaking so much and his heart is pounding from fear or something close to it.

Gandalf looks tired, Thorin notes absently. His appearance seems the same as ever but there’s a look in his eyes that makes Thorin think he has not been idle in the years since they have last seen one another.

Finally he can sit in silence no longer and he hurries to make his last confession.

“I have missed him Gandalf. More than I thought possible. The last thing I wanted was to be apart. But I couldn’t see any other way- indeed I still don’t.” He sighs heavily, having felt as if he’s defended his position the best he could. “Yet I fear I have made a mistake regardless.”

“I think that as well, though I admit I do see your reasoning.”

He then begins to grumble to himself, and try as he might, Thorin can not make out the words. A few sound like curses.

Eventually he seems to reach a decision and moves forward a bit. “I wonder, Thorin, if you and Balin thought to have somebody check if Hugin’s report was true?”

Thorin frowns. “Why would we need to?”

“While I will readily admit I am not a Dwarf of Erebor myself, I must remind you, that when Bilbo and I left spirits here in the Mountain seemed reasonably high. There were grumblings about Tauriel, it’s true, but I thought your people had nothing but respect for the Hobbit who had helped you all to win back your homeland.”

“What are you saying Gandalf?”

“I am asking whether you made sure it was a kingdom of Dwarves against Bilbo and Tauriel and not just one?” Gandalf looks at him significantly. “Perhaps Hugin allowed his personal opinions to cloud the authenticity of his report?”

“Impossible.” Thorin sat back. “That would be… I refuse to believe a Dwarf wold do such a thing. It goes against his honour.”

He had told Hugin that Bilbo was his One, had he not? Despite the fact Thorin had not admitted it to any others, he had confessed to Hugin in the hope that it would be enough to change the minds of his people.

For most Dwarves it would have been Thorin had thought. He did not know one so cruel as to separate a couple who loved each other the way Mahal had intended. It was sacred to them, and he had been so sure that fact alone would be enough to prove Bilbo belonged in Erebor at his side.

Perhaps there is some truth to Gandalf’s question. Maybe Hugin had let his own prejudices hold more sway than they should have.

“I did not have another assessment done.” Thorin says dully. “Balin and I did not even think of it.”

Nori could have asked around, Thorin thinks to himself. He trusted Nori far more than Hugin, and he had given Thorin reports of a similar nature in recent years since assuming Hugin’s duties and more. Why hadn’t the idea occurred to him back then? Or Balin for that matter?

Because neither of them believed a Dwarf capable of such cruelty, Thorin knows the answer readily. For all of his suspicion of other races, and paranoia during the gold sickness, Thorin has always trusted his own people. Even when they refused to aid him on the quest for Erebor he had seen their reasoning- it had been a fool’s errand, and their chances of victory, of survival, had been so low as to almost be none.

Could a Dwarf do such a thing as Gandalf suggested?

He remembers the look on Hugin’s face whenever he had talked about Bilbo or when he had cause to see Tauriel. Hugin has no love for other races, that was plain. 

“You are saying I have done all of this,” he gestures vaguely with his hand. “For nothing? Because of a lie told to me by a councillor?”

“I am saying perhaps it would be prudent to have somebody else look into this. Someone you trust.”

Thorin swallows. “And if they come back and tell me I could have been with Bilbo all along?”

Pity is an expression he has seen far too often on Gandalf’s face. “Then I believe it would be time for you to confide in Bilbo. Which you should have done from the start.”

Thorin winces but he knows it’s true. His stomach sinks as a new thought occurs to him.

“He will never accept me again Gandalf.”

Even if by Thorin’s own stupidity there is a chance they can be together without Erebor revolting, there is no reason Bilbo would want to. Thorin has been horrid in almost every way possible, and while he knows why he has done the things he has, Bilbo does not. Bilbo only thinks Thorin does not want him.

“I will tell you something that I once said to the Lady Galadriel so do not take these words lightly.” Gandalf intones seriously. “It is the small everyday actions of ordinary folk that keeps darkness out of our lives. Small acts of kindness and love. I draw courage from that, and therefore from Bilbo, who is kinder than perhaps he should be at times.” Gandalf huffs in exasperation though his expression is fond. “I think you need courage and kindness more than most.”

“I will not deny that I am better in every way with him by my side. But I do not think he can say the same.”

“Bilbo Baggins has nothing but love for you, Thorin Oakenshield, no matter what he may have said or done in his justified anger. He is good; and out of us all he deserves to be happy.”

Thorin swallows and looks away. When he speaks his voice is a rasp.

“I have mistreated him Gandalf.”

“Yes, I know. And I am displeased with you for it. But I also know you are repentant and unlikely to repeat former mistakes. You gave him something nobody else could, on that quest of yours, something I think he has sorely missed. If you can make it up to him so that he may forgive you, then I see no reason for me not to do the same.”

“Make it up to him how? You have known him longer than any of us, what would you suggest?”

A glint enters those grey eyes. “You know I have found that Hobbits appreciate honesty. Straightforwardness. They like to be friendly and feel secure in where they stand. More than anything,” he continues softly, “they are not made to be alone.”

Thorin’s heart clenches. “Nobody is.”

“No.” Gandalf agrees easily. “So perhaps you should work on that.”

* * *

Fíli comes almost immediately after Thorin has sent the runner with his request to meet him. It reassures him slightly to see that no matter the distance Thorin’s lies have created between them both, his nephew will still answer when Thorin needs him to.

But he looks nervous, and whether that is because he knows Thorin is mad at him for inviting Bilbo without Thorin’s knowledge and under false pretenses, or because this is the first time Fíli- or anybody- has been invited into the garden, is anybody’s guess.

“Fíli.” Thorin does not look away from the oak tree. It has grown taller than him now, and there is a good amount of branches sprouting leaves that allow spots of sunlight to reach the ground. “Thank you for coming.”

“What are we doing here Uncle?”

His sister-son stops a few feet away and does not look at the tree. He watches Thorin closely, and there is no anger or harsh feeling, only nerves and trepidation.

“You have never asked anybody here before. We’re not allowed.”

“Neither of which has ever stopped any of you.” Thorin reminds him, but Fíli doesn’t look abashed, only expectant, and he sighs. “Fíli I have to apologize to you. To all of the Company, but you more than most.”

He’s startled him, if the way Fíli frowns is any indication. For all of Fíli’s talents, hiding his emotions is not one of them.

“Apologize for what?”

“You are my heir and I trust you more than all others.” Confusion and pride mix together in Fíli’s expression and Thorin looks away again, back to the tree. “Yet I have been lying to you. I did it because I thought I was sparing you, but now that you have brought Bilbo back here I can see it only made things worse.”

“Uncle.” Fíli’s voice is shaking.

“I know it was you who organized him coming back, and while I wish- I wish you had told me first, I can see why you did not.” He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists. “What I am about to tell you must remain between us, do you understand? Balin and Gandalf know, as does your mother, but nobody else.” His voice goes hollow. “Not even Bilbo.”

“Thorin you’re scaring me.”

“I don’t mean to.” Thorin turns abruptly to stride over and sit on the bench beside the oak, his nerves getting the best of him. “Join me?”

“What is it?” Fíli’s eyes search his. “I know you didn’t want Bilbo back but- did I do something wrong? Is somebody in danger?”

Thorin tries to plan his words before giving it up as fruitless. Bilbo had always been better at these things than he.

“No. At least not immediately. For now, I need you to listen, and after I will hear what you have to say to me.” He twists one of his rings anxiously. “You will not be impressed with my past actions.”

After already admitting everything twice today one would think Thorin would be better prepared. He has been insulted by Dís and had his hope rekindled by Gandalf, and Thorin doesn’t think his heart can take much more. He may be nervous about Fíli’s reaction to his confession, but by this point he should at least know what he needs to say.

Instead he finds himself at a loss and his words are halting and thick. More than once he stops to take a deep breath and recollect himself, and as hard as it is, he watches every emotion play out on Fíli’s face.

It is a tirade, with one following swiftly after another. Confusion, anger, surprise, hurt. Thorin takes note of them all.

“This orchard was meant as a courting gift for Bilbo.”

Thorin looks around them as he finishes. The trees are bearing fruit, the flowers are in bloom and displaying every colour possible. He has planted the boxes anew every year, replacing the flowers that needed it and caring for the ones that remained. He is well-versed in the flower language of the Shire these days.

However, the amount of hours he has spent weeding and trimming the grass, or cleaning the benches and lamps, pales in comparison to the amount of time he has spent simply sitting here lost in thought.

His refuge has flourished over the years and Thorin has been proud to see it. He gets a similar feeling to what he feels after a particularly good day in the forge, and now he knows why Hobbits care so much for gardening.

“He had to leave before I could give it to him. Before I even started it.” Still he takes in the sights around them, the colours, the distant lights of Dale and sound of the waterfall. The sun is setting. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s his.”

When he finally looks back at Fíli there are tears in both of their eyes. “I needed a piece of him with me. This was all I could do.”

“It was for Kíli.” His nephew’s voice is a whisper, but his eyes are wide. “Sending Bilbo away, the lies, the way you’ve been acting… it’s all been for Kíli.”

Thorin says nothing.

“That’s why you’ve been so sad around him. Why you watch him and Tauriel.” Fíli speaks faster, putting the pieces together. “It all makes sense now, except…”

“Uncle,” Fíli reaches out to touch his arm and makes Thorin tense at the tone of his voice. “How could you send him away?”

He pauses, tears blinked back. Has Fíli not been listening? “I just told you…”

“Yes but- _how_? How could you do that to yourself?”

It takes a long time for Thorin to put his feelings to words, but Fíli waits patiently, attention locked on his face.

“Perhaps you feel the weight of the crown differently than I did as heir.” Thorin says eventually. “And, Mahal willing, you will wear it at a much older age than it came to me. I was young when Smaug arrived, too young for the burden Erebor’s fall gave me, but even before that I had been ruling alongside my father in Grandfather’s stead where we could, hiding Thrór’s gold sickness. As he got worse, he began to suspect Father of wanting to usurp him. As a result, he kept me close instead, and sometimes my counsel was all he would listen to, especially after my grandmother passed.

“I have placed more burden upon you and Kíli than I should have, but I hope that you have never felt the way I did back then. Your mother can attest to my behaviour in our youth. I was entirely devoted to Erebor and making sure that not only did our family stay afloat, but that the kingdom kept going. And then Smaug came.”

Thorin shakes his head. “Perhaps if I had been younger, I would have taken the Dragon as a sign, or used it as an excuse to escape my duties and position. I think Dís came to think that way. Rather than putting duty first, she prioritized love. She took care of herself and ended up placing her own happiness before all else. That is, of course, when she married your father.” Thorin hears the hitch in Fíli’s breath. “Once she had you and Kíli it only made her more certain; Erebor was in the past, and what mattered instead was building a new life. One without the suffocating responsibilities of ruling. She wished to give up her crown altogether and I believe she would have if it had not been for Azanulbizar.”

Thorin closes his eyes, lost in the memories of that day. “Frerin’s death left us both shattered but Dís most of all. It seemed to prove her point, I think. Where I knew that Frerin had volunteered to fight alongside Father and me, she only saw a prince desperate to prove himself. I think she was scared I would do the same, or that you two would grow up to follow in Frerin’s footsteps; not an unreasonable fear, as it turns out, as I nearly did exactly that in the Battle of Five Armies.”

Yes, Dís had been more right than Thorin wants to admit. And while he regrets Azanulbizar every day, he cannot find it in himself to think the quest for Erebor had been wrong.

He turns to face Fíli, clasping his hand. “She had refused to join us, saying she would not sacrifice herself for a kingdom of stone when we had made lives elsewhere, and that she refused to leave you and Kíli. At the disappearance of Father and deaths of Thrór, Frerin and Víli… well a part of me knew she was right, even back then.”

He gets up and paces. “But if there had been a choice for a new life for me before Moria, it was gone after. Our people needed a leader and Dís and I were all that was left. I was the oldest, so I did the best I could. And even though it was the last thing she wanted, for herself and for you, Dís saw the burden I carried, and she helped me.”

“I thought… she never said.” Fíli frowns. “She threw herself into work at the Blue Mountains.”

“Aye, and she was likely a better ruler than I could ever be. I was lost to memories of here, and no matter what, I was always determined to win us our home back. Dís called me a fool for it, and again, she was right. But I could not let the dream go.

“And then we did it.” He says. “We won Erebor back and suddenly instead of being a wandering prince I am King Under the Mountain. And the responsibility that I had temporarily escaped from on our quest was back.”

He heaves in a breath and sits back down. “I tell you all of this so that you understand how I could do such a thing to Bilbo. I was raised to give everything for this place and our people. Everything I did and do now is for our home. I know nothing else.”

“So when it came down to a choice between him and Erebor…”

“I am king.” Thorin says quietly. “I belong to my kingdom.”

“You belong with Bilbo.” Fíli says back and it startles Thorin to hear just how gentle his nephew sounds. “Don’t you see? After everything you felt while he was gone, how can you still think you made the right decision?”

_“You belong with the Company.”_

_“I belong with my brother.”_

Fíli has always put more importance on personal relationships than Erebor, something he undoubtedly learned from his mother. It is one of the only things Thorin has ever disagreed with him on in regard to ruling.

Lately Thorin has wondered more and more if Fíli is not right.

Thorin searches his face and then turns away, trying to make Fíli see. Because if it turns out he has truly wasted all of these years for nothing, like Gandalf suggested, or even just made the wrong decision like Dís and Fíli believe… he does not know what that will do to him.

“I did what I had to. For Bilbo’s safety. For Kíli.”

Fíli takes a deep breath, one of his tears falling. “You should have told us. Or at least Bilbo. We could have helped you. We could have found another way.”

“I should have done a lot of things.” Thorin replies, regret making his words bitter. “And I will do my best to make up for that. At this moment Nori is out gathering information for me to see how the Dwarves will react to Bilbo being back. Rumours have spread for years about his importance to me. Now I will learn what they think of such an idea.”

“I don’t know.” Fíli frowns, wiping at his eyes. “I can’t imagine them objecting, but then I remember how all of us were in the beginning of the journey…”

Thorin sighs deeply and nods, sitting heavily beside him. “Yes. And with Kíli marrying Tauriel… Hugin’s words are just plausible enough for me to have believed him.”

Fíli leans his head on Thorin’s shoulders. “Don’t give up hope.”

“I won’t.” Thorin promises, angling to make them both more comfortable. “Not this time.”

“Even if Hugin wasn’t lying,” Fíli scowls as the name drips from his tongue. “You have to tell Bilbo. He’s spent this entire time thinking… I don’t know. But he’s been sad, Uncle. All of us can see it.”

“Yes, I know.” Thorin sets his expression, his tears drying. “I know better than anybody else.”

They sit in silence and stare up at the sky, watching stars appear one by one, both lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

It is a rare thing for Thorin to escape his entourage of guards, but tonight he has managed it.

In no small part that is thanks to Dwalin. Fíli had left the orchard first, and though Thorin had not lingered long after, he had still needed time to plan his words.

When telling the truth to the others, he had been clumsy and caught off guard. This time, with Bilbo, he has to do it right. He has to make him see; if not enough for forgiveness, then at least understand enough to know Thorin regrets it all.

When he finally steps back into the mountain Dwalin takes one look at his face and scoffs.

“You need to se him.”

“Yes.” Thorin stands and meets his friend’s eyes willingly, no longer hiding. The several other guards around them remain stoic and quiet. Many times Thorin forgets they are even there, but not now. “I wish for only you to accompany me.”

Dwalin’s mouth thins. “That’s not safe enough.”

“Dwalin. Please.”

The other Dwarf’s face hardens, and Thorin sees the battle raging in his eyes, before he looks away in disgust. Whether at Thorin, or himself, or the situation in general, the king doesn’t know. “Aye.”

“You are all dismissed for the night.” Thorin doesn’t waste any time, and though one or two of the guards look at Dwalin for confirmation, in a few seconds it is only the two of them remaining in the hallway heading to the outcrop.

Thorin leads the way, though Dwalin falls into step beside him.

“He is in his rooms?”

A nod.

“He came to dinner after going to see you.” Dwalin shoots a questioning glance in Thorin’s direction but Thorin keeps looking ahead. “Afterwards Bofur took him straight to his rooms, and a while later he came back and said Baggins was tired and wanted to unpack alone.” Another significant look. “It is fairly late now.”

“This cannot wait.”

“Thank Mahal for that.” Dwalin mutters. “You’ve dragged this on long enough.”

Thorin looks at him sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Dwalin challenges. “Thorin we’ve had this conversation. More than once, if I’m remembering correctly. I’m just glad you’re finally doing something about it, even if those little blighters you call nephews had to force your hand.”

For a few steps Thorin doesn’t say anything.

“How did he seem?” He asks finally. “At dinner?”

Dwalin’s silence is thoughtful. “Like he was putting on a brave face, if I had to guess. Though he was happy to see us all again. Told us all you two likely wouldn’t be around each other much.”

“Ah.”

“That your idea or his?”

“His. I am about to do my best to… fix it.”

“Well whatever you do keep the volume down.” Dwalin grunts. “The doors are only so thick.”

No, Thorin cannot think about that. Those memories are too dangerous and best left for the secrecy of his own bedroom in the dark.

“Don’t concern yourself with that.” He says stiffly.

“Might do you good.”

“ _Dwalin_.”

“Yes alright.” A pause. “Sorry.”

There is a guard standing outside of Bilbo’s door and Thorin nods at her. “All quiet?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Dido bows her head. “A couple of members of your Company came earlier, but Master Baggins is alone now.”

“Good.”

Thorin has chosen Dido as Bilbo’s guard himself. She is one of Dwalin’s most trusted, and Thorin does not claim to know her personally but he thinks she and Bilbo will get along fairly well.

He glances at his own personal guard and sees Dwalin watching him expectantly. “This is where I leave you.”

“Aye.” Dwalin’s face softens a fraction. Not enough for anybody else to see, but Thorin has known him a long time. “Good luck.”

He nods, and after taking a quick breath and gathering his courage, he knocks lightly on the door.

“Come in Bofur!”

The reply is faint, and causes Thorin’s stomach to twist, but he ignores Dwalin’s wordless grunt and opens the door anyway to slip inside quickly.

It closes firmly behind him.

“I told you I’m perfectly…” Bilbo appears from his bedroom, hands falling from tying the bathrobe closed. “Fine.”

“It’s not Bofur.” Thorin says dumbly, but Bilbo doesn’t move. He stands there staring at him and Thorin does the same, taking in the tired stance and slightly mussed hair.

There are words for what seeing Bilbo does to him, Thorin is sure of it. But he can’t seem to think of them.

“I-” He steps forward but cuts himself off, biting the tip of his tongue softly. Every carefully prepared speech has fled his brain and he finds himself feeling lost.

The length of the room separates them, and even though it isn’t a huge space- enough to hold several rugs and furs, two armchairs, a couch, a fireplace and small table- it feels like the width of the mountain to Thorin.

A tapestry of the Company hangs from the wall, depicting them all standing on the gates of Erebor.

A fiction, Thorin knows, eyes caught on it. There had only been once when every member of their quest had stood atop the ramparts, and it was not something whoever had sewn this had been there to witness. To Thorin’s relief.

Why Dori and Bofur would choose this scene for Bilbo’s room Thorin doesn’t know, but he stops and stares, trailing off. In the tapestry he holds the Arkenstone cupped in both hands, shown as if he is holding it out in demonstration to whoever looks on. 

Displaying Erebor’s wealth for all to see, and proudly surrounded by those who helped him win it back.

“What are you doing here?”

He turns his head at Bilbo’s words, meeting his eyes. His own mouth is open and he feels lost, any trace of control gone in his surprise.

Why had they chosen this tapestry? Now all he can feel is the phantom weight of Bilbo held up in his hands, eyes wide and scared, lips parted in an aborted scream.

It haunts his nightmares, that memory. There is a reason Thorin barely goes on the top of the gates except for once a year.

“Please.” Thorin says and Bilbo looks at him bewildered. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. “Don’t throw me out.”

The Hobbit crosses his arms and cocks his head. “I hadn’t intended to. But what are you doing here, Thorin?”

He glances at the sewing again, swallowing thickly. “How do you like your rooms?”

They seem comfortable, Thorin thinks, taking in the rest of their surroundings. The armchairs are well-cushioned. One is dark green and the other brown. Furs warm the stone beneath their feet, and the table is a comely dark cherry coloured oak. Apart from the tapestry Thorin thinks that Dori and Bofur have done well in making it seem comforting and home-like.

Already he sees traces of Bilbo. A jacket is hanging over an arm of the armchair, and the small table beside it holds a saucer with crumbs. Likely all that remains of Bombur’s latest batch of jam scones.

Beyond Bilbo is the doorway to the bedroom, and Thorin knows if he was to walk over and look inside he would see Bilbo’s belongings unpacked and put away neatly. Maybe a few things from Bag-End that he had not wanted to part with for the duration of his journey.

“They please me very much, for the most part.” Bilbo’s eyes flicker over to the tapestry as well and Thorin frowns, not bothering to feign ignorance.

“I can have it removed if you like.” He says softly. “I did not know they intended to use it.”

As if that matters, he thinks to himself. Why would Bilbo care what you did or didn’t know? None of it makes a difference to him.

“Oh.” Bilbo replies. “I- Bofur told me you’d asked them to make the rooms up for me. I thought…”

Thought you had picked it all out. Thorin knows that is the end of that sentence and he grimaces.

“I should have prepared them myself.”

Absurdly, Bilbo blushes, and Thorin frowns before remembering dully that making homes or decorating for somebody is a Hobbit courting custom.

Bag-End had been built by Bilbo’s own father for his mother.

“You’re busy.” Bilbo offers finally, snapping Thorin out of his inner turmoil. “And I was not exactly expected.”

“Yes.” He agrees, seeing how Bilbo looks away as if disappointed. “Still I wish for you to be comfortable. If you ever want anything, or to have something removed,” again he glances at the cloth on the wall. “Let one of us know. We’ll be more than happy to do it.”

“Thank you.”

Again the silence between them is stilted and Thorin knows it is up to him to speak. He is the one who came to Bilbo and he has to apologize and explain.

But the formalities are easy. He understands well now how Bilbo had used his manners as a kind of defense way back in the beginning of their journey.

It seems those manners have finally run dry.

“Is that why you came?” Bilbo presses finally. “To see if I was comfortable?”

“No.” Thorin steels his nerve. “No, I came because I have something to tell you. A lot to tell you. And if you are willing to listen, I will explain everything I have done these past five years.”

Whatever Bilbo had expected, it obviously hadn’t been that, and his hands fall to his sides. “Pardon?”

“I have come to tell you the truth.” Thorin stares at him. “What I should have told you before you left.”

The fire popping is the only sound between them as their eyes hold. Thorin wonders what Bilbo is thinking, watches the rapid changes in the lines around his eyes, and he wishes he had the right to go up and smooth the wrinkles out with his thumb and kiss the Hobbit’s forehead.

“What do you-”

“I should never have sent you away.” Thorin says and he does finally move forward, daring to take a few steps. “I never wanted to.”

Bilbo looks pained. “I don’t know if I can listen to this.”

It is only a whisper but Thorin feels it like a blow.

“Please,” he says again and if it were anybody but Bilbo he likely couldn’t have begged in such a way. Thorin has only ever begged like this once before in his adult life, and it was when he was willing to set aside his pride and ask other rulers to shelter his people after the desolation of Smaug.

This is entirely different and yet Thorin feels just as desperate and pained now as he had back then.

“Please hear me out. And if after that you want nothing to do with me, you will be well within your rights. I have made mistakes, Bilbo.” He confesses, and it’s a raw, broken sentence. “So many mistakes. And I need you to at least know why.”

For a long time Bilbo is quiet, only staring at him in shock. He searches Thorin’s face, which he knows is laid open and bare, and when he eventually nods there’s sorrow there on the Halfling’s features.

“Alright.” Bilbo says quietly. “Let’s sit down.”

Thorin lets Bilbo lead the way to the armchairs and stands in wait as he builds up the fire, adding another log. It is late. He feels it in the tiredness of his bones and sees it in the shadows slowly forming under Bilbo’s eyes.

“You can take a seat you know.” Bilbo says, lips quirking a bit in amusement and Thorin hesitates before taking the brown armchair, waiting to speak until Bilbo sits too.

“There we are.” He’s fussing but Thorin doesn’t mind, drinking in the sight greedily. Finally, with his jacket refolded and lying across his lap, Bilbo looks up to meet his gaze, eyes expectant and, if Thorin is not mistaken, frightened. “Don’t wait on my account.”

“I…” He shakes his head to clear it. Perhaps it had been foolish to come to Bilbo tonight. Thorin is exhausted and sick of repeating his words. He is tired of dwelling on the past.

But if anybody deserves to know it’s Bilbo. And he has always been easier to talk to than anybody else.

“Thorin,” for the first time since arriving back in Erebor Bilbo sounds gentle and concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” The words pour from his mouth, heart felt and sounding achingly young. “You don’t know how many times I wished for you, only to remember…”

A bit of an edge comes back into Bilbo’s words. “Don’t. It’s not fair.”

Thorin stops in place at the plea but it’s for the best. He nods. “You’re right. That’s why- this is why I came. What I have to say.”

“Say it then. Please.”

So finally Thorin does.

“I’m so sorry.” They might be the softest words he’s ever spoken, but still Bilbo flinches like they’re a scream. “I have missed you for every moment since you left. I never should have sent you away.”

“Then why,” Bilbo’s voice shakes, and he stops, clearing his throat before continuing more steadily. “Why did you?”

“Do you remember the day before I told you to go,” Bilbo’s hands clench around his jacket and Thorin looks down. “That I had a meeting with Hugin?”

“Yes.”

“In that meeting he told me that Erebor wasn’t safe for you. And the monarchy wasn’t well established enough for two marriages to members of other races.”

Now when Bilbo frowns Thorin doesn’t think it’s directed at him. He leans forward a bit in his chair.

“What do you mean?”

Thorin tells him word for word what Hugin had said to him. The warnings about Bilbo’s safety, the choice between their courtship or Kíli and Tauriel’s, the threats and chance of riots and the Dwarves overthrowing the government. Every word is burned into his brain and it’s easy to recite them now.

“You had told me Hobbits didn’t have Ones.” Thorin says. “And so I thought if any of us could move on it would be you. I convinced myself that you would go home and be fine. Happier than you could be in Erebor, where I had dragged you unwillingly on a quest you initially had no desire to join.”

Bilbo says nothing, only staring at him with a stony look on his face. He has remained strangely closed off during Thorin’s entire explanation, and it makes him nervous. With nothing else to do he goes on.

“And though I loved you, I knew if any of us should have their heart broken it should be me. Kíli was too young and I could not do that to him. And you…”

“You could do it to me.”

It is not a question but Thorin hurries to rectify it.

“No.” He clears his own throat and looks at the fire. “I knew you would move on. That it wouldn’t be permanent, as it is for Dwarves.”

“How pragmatic of you.” Bilbo says and Thorin flinches.

“I hoped you would be happier for it.”

Bilbo’s laugh is sharp, disbelieving and harsh. “How?”

“I do not deserve you.” His words are firm. “I have been… from the beginning of our acquaintance my actions towards you have been less than you deserve. I have hurt you, many times. I thought you would be better without me.”

It’s the truth, Thorin knows. Bilbo has been nothing but good to him, and in return all Thorin can seem to do is fall prey to his own possessive selfishness and greed.

He had thought in sending Bilbo away that for once he was being self-sacrificing. It turns out even then he was wrong.

“That was not your decision to make.”

“I know.” Thorin looks over at him again, sees the anger there. “I should have told you everything from the very start. I wanted to.”

Bilbo breathes out, long and weary. He’s quiet for a long time, glancing away, hiding his eyes by staring at the fire. Finally when he does speak again he sounds frustrated. “Thorin what am I supposed to say to all of this? What do you expect me to feel?”

“I expect nothing. But you had to know.” He hesitates, scared to voice his next question. “Do you wish I hadn’t told you?”

Bilbo sits and picks at his jacket. It’s a long time before he answers.

“I don’t know. Maybe. You’ve just admitted to me that you made yourself miserable for Kíli’s sake, and done all you can for his happiness, and the good of your people. Fine. It’s extremely in character for you and I had guessed… I’m not completely surprised.”

“You’re not?”

“I had guessed you sending me away had something to do with what Hugin told you.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did.” Bilbo shoots him a look, irritated now more than anything, at least for the moment. “I’m not stupid, you know. I knew you were talking to him about… my position here. And then you avoided me until the next morning when you suddenly told me to go. It took a little while, but eventually I realized it must have been something to do with Dwarves disapproving of me.”

“It wasn’t…” He trails off in frustration. “Nobody else ever said anything to me, at least not outright. But Hugin didn’t want me to take the risk. And I…”

“You weren’t willing to either.” Bilbo says simply. “So I had to go.”

He doesn’t sound angry anymore but there is a wealth of hurt hidden within his tone.

Thorin wishes he could deny it.

“No. I wasn’t.”

Bilbo sighs and shakes his head. “I just don’t know what you were trying to accomplish by telling me all of this now.”

Again it takes Thorin a few moments to collect himself, and when he does he lets his eyes meet Bilbo’s. They’re so clear and warm, such a different shade to Thorin’s own, but much more beautiful.

And suddenly he has made up his mind.

He had never told Bilbo that he was Thorin’s One. And it feels wrong for so many others to know that when Bilbo doesn’t himself.

“I want you to know how I feel. To fix my mistake and tell you something I’ve never said before.” He moves to crouch by the side of Bilbo’s chair, taking his hands that rest on the arm. “I want to tell you that I-”

“Thorin stop.”

He jerks back at the cutting tone. Hurt slices sharp as a knife inside of him, but it’s quickly replaced with worry when he looks up and sees the pain on Bilbo’s face, clear for anybody to see. The Hobbit is sitting wide-eyed as if surprised at his own outburst.

“I don’t want to hear this.” He whispers finally and his hands are gripping Thorin’s tightly but it doesn’t ease the determination clear on his face or the rejection in his words. His tone brooks no arguments. “Nothing has changed since you sent me away, if I understand correctly. And now you’re saying things… maybe you’re overwhelmed because you didn’t expect me to come back. But you don’t mean it.”

It takes a few seconds for Thorin to realize Bilbo is waiting for him to respond. “I do.”

“No.” Bilbo smiles and it’s pitying and sad and heartbroken. “You don’t. You feel guilty and you’re trying to make it up to me. Or make yourself feel better. But this isn’t the way to do it.”

“Bilbo-”

“I can’t love you.”

Bilbo says, and this time it is him pulling his hands away and standing up to step back. His eyes skitter to the side as he says it before he seems to steel himself. He retreats more than a few steps, leaving Thorin kneeling on the ground and reaching out desperately.

“And I don’t think you love me. Not after the way you treated me.”

Thorin is well-versed in heartbreak and so it isn’t hard for him to recognize what he feels at Bilbo’s words. Still, it takes him by surprise.

Foolishly he had thought he’d reached his limit for it when he had sent Bilbo away.

It takes him only a few seconds to compose himself ,but he knows Bilbo has seen his feelings writ plain across his face. The weight of the rebuff stings, it has him reeling internally, but Bilbo does not need to be subjected to such a display, no matter how hard it might be to hide it. Still he lets his familiar mask fall back into place once more as he stands up to his full height.

“Please understand.” Bilbo finishes miserably, eyes never leaving him.

With a patience he didn’t know he possessed, Thorin makes sure his reply is gentle. Bilbo doesn’t deserve to face Thorin’s disappointed hopes. He has done nothing wrong.

“I do. I cannot fault you for your feelings, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo winces and he pretends he didn’t see.

“I came to tell you the truth and I have done so.” Thorin swallows, knowing he’s reached his limit. There are only so many empty manners he can remember when his heart is pounding so hard it hurts, and his throat is dry and close to choking him. “Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“Thorin.” Bilbo leaps forward to catch his wrist and for a second he feels his hopes lift and his heart beat in a way that is no longer painful.

Bilbo’s touch burns pleasantly against his skin and Thorin gasps from the feeling. His skin is still so soft, and immediately Thorin is reminded of just what those hands could do, just what they had done to him once upon a time.

Bilbo pulls away quickly, looking regretful.

“Erm. I just wanted to say… despite everything, if you think we could manage it, I’d like to be friends again. Or at least as close to it as we can.” Now his face falls. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”

Thorin feels as if someone has pierced a red-hot poker through his chest.

Friends with Bilbo?

He doesn’t think it is possible.

But when he opens his mouth to say so he catches sight of Bilbo’s eyes again. There is misery etched in every part of him, and Thorin finds that the words don’t come. Bilbo is no less pained than he is, Thorin can see that clearly. Both of them are unhappy with the way things are between them.

If pretending is what Thorin has to do to ease some of Bilbo’s discomfort he can do it.

“Of course.” He forces a smile, suddenly grateful beyond words that he had not made it far enough to tell Bilbo that he is his One like he had intended. “Being your friend would be an honour.”

He bows to hide the cracks in his expression, and to avoid seeing Bilbo’s face.

“Thank you,” the Hobbit says softly, but Thorin can’t look up from the floor, even when he straightens.

He coughs. “I will leave you. I’m sure you’re tired and I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Thorin-”

“Good night, Master Baggins.”

He pretends not to notice Bilbo reaching out again or the sudden pleading in his voice. Thorin knows that whatever his own tone might be, it is nowhere near the calm or collected façade he is trying to put on. “Thank you for sparing me the time. I hope you sleep well.”

The door is open when Bilbo replies, voice small. “And you.”

He catches a glimpse of Dwalin’s hopeful face, but after Thorin firmly closes the door behind himself and strides down the hallway to his own quarters without a word, he knows his feelings must be clear.

“Thorin.”

“Good night.” He says sharply, not even bothering to nod at the two guards at his door before going into his rooms and leaving Dwalin standing there in the hall.

Tomorrow he will have to explain, but for now he wants nothing more than to fall asleep and forget everything.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khuzd allâkhul- stupid Dwarf (but fondly, from one spouse to another)  
> lansel- love of all loves  
> madtithbirzul- little golden heart  
> amad- mother

The next morning Thorin cannot keep from yawning. He hadn’t slept at all the night before and it hasn’t helped his mood. Heartbreak has festered and turned to hurt, which all of the Dwarves around him are quickly experiencing as anger.

He snaps at the servant who brings him breakfast for lingering to see if it tasted alright and if there was anything else he could do. He glowers at Fíli, who arrives bright and early at his door, eyes hopeful.

“We will not speak of it.” Thorin says before Fíli can get a word in or Dwalin can close the door. “It went as well as I expected. Master Baggins and I will be civil with one another. I won’t hear anything else about it.”

Disappointment clouds his nephew’s face and Dwalin seems to make a decision and stays in the room, shutting the door behind him. “But-”

“Not a word.” Thorin turns away from them. “I am lucky he agreed to that much.”

“Uncle.” Fíli comes towards him, and before Thorin can do anything he is enveloped in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Thorin’s words are dull. “This is a mess of my own making. I can only blame myself.”

“Still-”

“Enough, Fíli .” He hugs him back briefly before stepping away and looking to Dwalin. “Does that answer your questions?”

Dwalin opens his mouth, eyes stormy, but thinks better of it. “Yes.”

“Good.” Thorin sheathes Orcrist at his belt. “Now come on. I neglected to welcome the delegation from Mirkwood and I suspect Thranduil’s son will not let me be so discourteous a second day.”

“Oh he’s fine.” Dwalin says gruffly. “Spent all afternoon with Tauriel.”

Fíli still looks unhappy but when Thorin glances at him questioningly he sighs and straightens up, hiding his disappointment. “Yeah she was dead excited to see him. Apparently he even had Thranduil’s blessing to come.”

“Well that is a surprise,” Thorin says and they make their way out to the hall. He steadfastly does not glance down at the door where Bilbo’s rooms are. “But did he have to come for an entire month before the wedding?”

Fíli snorts. “He helped escort Gandalf and Bilbo. Apparently it just made sense.”

“Pah.” Thorin keeps his expression clear.

“I think he said something about seeing Gimli too.”

“Gimli?” That makes Thorin stop and stare at Fíli in surprise. Suspicion is quick to follow. “What does he want with Gimli?” A suspicion strikes him. “Does he think he can torment him? The lad may be young yet but-”

“No, Uncle.” Fíli’s lips are twitching at some joke Thorin isn’t a part of. His glower deepens. “Didn’t you know, they’ve been in constant correspondence since the last time Prince Legolas was here. From what Gimli told Kíli, they’re friends now.”

“Friends?” He would not have been more shocked if Legolas appeared now walking down the hallway naked.

“Apparently.” Dwalin grumbles. “I think Glóin’s having a talk with him today. You should have seen the lad greet the tree-shagger at the gates.”

Thorin hesitates. His feelings towards Elves in general may have softened slightly but he still has little love for Thranduil or his son. “What do you mean Dwalin?”

His guard shrugs. “Just seemed a bit too friendly to me. Don’t know how he could stand to be around him, all that- that you know. White.”

“White?”

“Aye, white skin, white blonde hair. No colour to him.”

“Not like Nori, hey Dwalin?” Fíli nudges him and then dances out of the way of Dwalin’s blow, laughing as the older Dwarf growls.

“Enough,” Thorin rolls his eyes at them both and they continue on.

And indeed Fíli’s words turn out to be true, for when Thorin enters the counsel room Prince Legolas is already there, with a few other Elves- a guard from the looks of them- and Tauriel, Kíli and Gimli as well.

Another survey of the room shows Glóin standing in the corner and glowering as the Elf Prince bends down to listen to Gimli whisper something in his ear.

“Your Majesty.” Tauriel notices him first and bows, subtly elbowing her former monarch and making him straighten.

“King Thorin,” Prince Legolas loses any trace of a smile and comes forward, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you for allowing me to stay in Erebor for the festivities.”

“We are glad to have you,” he replies and is proud of himself when his voice comes out only slightly hostile. “I apologise for not greeting you yesterday upon your arrival, but I hope my sister filled in adequately.”

“Yes.” The Elf’s pale blue eyes spark for a moment. “She resembles you very much.”

Again Thorin pauses, wondering whether that was meant as a compliment or insult. At a look from Kíli he pushes his indecision away and falls back onto pleasantries. “I hope your rooms please you?”

He does not think of Bilbo.

“Very much.” Legolas’ eyes don’t move but his stance shifts ever so slightly in Gimli’s direction. “I am honoured to have such well-placed quarters.”

Ah yes. Thorin glances at Glóin who is glowering at them both. The rooms for visiting dignitaries are beside his family’s.

Had he approved that? Thorin can’t remember.

“Very good. If you or your entourage have any complaints please let us know.”

Something flares in Legolas’ eyes for a moment before he inclines his head again. “Of course. Thank you.”

That is about all Thorin feels he can manage at the moment, and he looks back at Fíli, who, if his face is anything to go by, is holding back a laugh.

Thorin sighs. “Gimli!”

With a silent apology to Glóin Thorin watches the young Dwarf come forward, hand gripped around the handle of his battle axe tightly.

“Peace, Gimli.” Thorin says. He does not know where this sudden bout of generosity and leniency has come from but he is ready to put all duties regarding the Mirkwood Prince to rest. If that means giving him what he wants, he is not in the mood to stall it. “I wonder whether you would be willing to accompany Prince Legolas and his delegation whenever and wherever he should wish for the duration of his stay? To ensure he does not get lost, and help him with any requirements we have forgotten.”

If Thorin had doubted his nephew’s words before, that doubt vanishes from the way Gimli’s face brightens immediately. A strangled sound comes from the corner Glóin is standing in, and Thorin nudges Dwalin subtly, sending the guard over to whisper something hurriedly in his cousin’s ear.

The joy on Gimli’s face is marred with confusion. “I don’t think he needs any help-”

“Thank you, King Thorin. That is much appreciated.” Legolas breaks in smoothly, never glancing at Gimli but coming to stand beside him. Right beside him. “I am sure he will be of great assistance to me.” A pause. “To us all.”

So close that there is no space to be seen between the two.

What has happened to the world? Thorin wonders to himself as he nods back at Legolas and watches the realization play across Gimli’s features who accepts the task excitedly. Had there always been such relations between Dwarves and other races and they were not spoken of? Or did Mahal have some plan in encouraging Erebor’s Dwarves to form such close ties with outsiders now? Could it be the natural conclusion to Thorin bringing a Hobbit along on the quest to retake their home?

Inter-racial relations indeed.

“Good. Then Gimli he is in your care while he remains in Erebor.” Fíli snorts beside him and Thorin scowls. “Now. On to other business.”

The day devolves from there. After he has dismissed most of the occupants of the room, promising to come and visit Glóin and Mimi later and explain, Balin appears with a hand full of reports. Preparations for the wedding are well underway, and while usually Dis would be here as well to give him updates on the mountain, he chalks her absence up to the visitors and not the argument they had yesterday.

His mood neither worsens or brightens as the day continues. He feels disconnected and performs his duties on autopilot. Listening to petitioners and holding court, approving the opening of a new mine and directing Bombur to Kíli and Tauriel with his questions concerning the wedding feast.

Soon he has done all he needs to and reluctantly makes his way to Glóin’s quarters.

His knock is answered by Mimi. “Come in!”

He does and Dwalin follows to find Mimi sitting beside an obviously furious Glóin on their couch.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” She bows quickly and then looks past Thorin’s shoulder, a fond smile lifting her beard slightly. “Hello Dwalin.”

“Mimi.” Thorin and Dwalin speak simultaneously and both dip their heads. With a sigh the king moves to take her vacated place by Glóin.

“Old friend, will you let me explain?”

“Nothing to explain.” Glóin replies gruffly, arms crossed and looking furiously across the room at the wall. “You needed someone to see ter the Elf and Gimli has the time.”

“He also seems to be quite… friendly with the prince.” Thorin says delicately, hurrying on as Glóin’s face flames in anger. “Which will benefit us all greatly.”

“I’ve been telling him it’s good for Gimli.” Mimi comes to stand in front of her husband, placing a hand on Glóin’s shoulder. “It makes him feel important. And he’s been missing Legolas as of late.”

“I swear to you Thorin I didn’t know they were speaking.” Glóin turns to him suddenly in earnest, making him blink in surprise. “Otherwise I’d have put a stop to it.”

“Oh you _khuzd allâkhul_ ,” Mimi says fondly. “You could not stop this if you tried. Do you not remember what we were like all those years ago?”

“It is not the same!” Gloin thunders and Thorin sighs quietly, sharing a look with Mimi.

“Whether it is or not I cannot judge.” Thorin breaks in, though he certainly does have ideas on the subject and suspects Glóin would not like them. “But the fact remains the two seem to have become friends over the years. Do you truly believe Gimli would have allowed Prince Legolas to spend a month in Erebor with no contact?”

“Remember whose son he is, _lansel_.” Mimi murmurs, running her fingers through Glóin’s hair and making both Dwalin and Thorin look away.

Glóin’s scowl lessens slightly. “He gets this from your side.”

Mimi’s laugh is tinkling as she shakes her head. “Gimli is the pride of your life, dearheart. I know you will not allow this to come between you.” Her voice hardens slightly in warning. “I will not let you make such a mistake.”

“Of course not.” Glóin grumbles as if the sentiment shouldn’t even need to be said. “But I don’t like it.”

“He’s a strong boy.” Dwalin speaks. “If anyone can handle a ponce like the Elf Prince it’s Gimli.”

“Too true.” Thorin nods and stands. “And we are supposed to be improving relations with the Elves. If Gimli is willing to keep him busy for his stay I will be in his debt. And yours for allowing him to.”

Glóin’s eyes gleam as they looked up. “Aye?”

“Undoubtedly,” Thorin promises, catching Mimi’s knowing smirk that she tucks away quickly.

“Well then.” Glóin sighs. “I suppose it’s only for a month.”

“Precisely.” He takes a few steps towards the door before pausing. “What time is it?”

Dwalin curses in Khuzdûl. “Past the time we were told to meet to dine, I can tell you that.” They glance at Glóin who heaves himself off of the couch quickly. “I doubt they waited for us.”

Thorin’s stomach clenches. He has been dreading this all day. “I hope they did not. Still we will go now. You’re ready?”

He directs the last question to Glóin who nods and gently knocks foreheads with Mimi, the two of them whispering so quietly even Thorin can’t hear from where he stands by the door.

Perhaps it helps that he isn’t particularly trying or paying much attention to their surroundings at all. Instead he is forcing himself to remain impassive as the thought of seeing Bilbo again swims around his brain.

He had missed last nights welcoming meal and it would not do to miss this one. Yesterday he had the excuse of Bilbo’s arrival being a surprise to them all and had claimed his duties could not be pushed aside. Today there is no such luxury, and Balin has made him promise to attend.

The rest of the Company will be there as well but it makes no difference. Thorin knows the entire time he will be remembering Bilbo’s rejection from the night before.

_“I can’t love you... Not after the way you treated me.”_

Thorin has not gone five minutes without remembering those words today and feeling like all of the air has been punched from his lungs. It has only been a day, but instead of the pain abating along with the shock, it seems to only have grown.

They make their way through the hall and down the set of stairs leading to the eating chamber. It had used to serve as a smaller council room but Thorin had ordered it repurposed for the Company to use in their shared weekly meals.

When the three of them arrive the rest of the Company fall silent. Thorin takes them all in, their sparkling eyes and wide smiles, many of them caught in mid-laughter.

Gandalf is there, eyes twinkling away knowingly like usual, and Thorin remembers he has not informed the Wizard of the development between him and Bilbo.

From the pitying look that is on Gandalf’s face as Thorin makes his way to his seat at the head of the table he suspects there is no need to. Perhaps Bilbo has done it for him.

Balin’s eyes are slightly accusing, as if suspecting Thorin of having been late on purpose, and a small part of him is right. He had not intended for his talk with Glóin to occur so late in the afternoon, but he hadn’t cut it short when he had remembered about the dinner while sitting in the banker’s quarters either.

He wastes as much time as he can taking in the Dwarves at the table. Fíli and Kíli are leaning against one another and Thorin sees the remains of giggles draining from their expression as their eyes land on the smallest member of their group.

Bilbo is staring at him, his expression plain and easy for anybody to read. Surprise and nerves show in the tense line of his shoulders before they hunch slightly and Bilbo ducks his head.

He is sitting in the center of the row on the far side of the table from the door, and Thorin forces his eyes away as he sinks into his own chair, Dwalin falling in at his right as Glóin plops down beside Óin who pats his shoulder consolingly.

“I apologize for our lateness,” Thorin tries not to make it obvious he is watching Bilbo as he speaks, cataloguing the way the Hobbit’s head shoots up to meet his eyes. “A meeting ran rather late. We did not mean to interrupt.”

Balin of course knows he had no meeting but the old Dwarf remains silent, for which Thorin is grateful.

Still he barely notices, only watching as Bilbo surveys the Company, obviously noting the sets of eyes that shoot between the two of them, and the tension that seems to choke the room.

Determination fills the Hobbit’s eyes and for a second Thorin’s own feelings recede to be replaced with such painful nostalgia it threatens to silence him.

“No need to apologize.” Bilbo’s smile is tentative but warm. “I was only telling everybody about my most recent years at the Shire.”

“Bilbo’s in the middle of a war with his cousin!” Kíli crows, his giggles returning. “She sounds horrid.”

“Lobelia again?” Thorin asks Bilbo before he can think better of it.

Regret is quick to come when the others fall silent at the question, with all attention now firmly fixed on him without even attempting to pretend otherwise.

Surprise flits across Bilbo’s face quickly, there and gone again in a moment. His smile turns from cautious to soft, and his tone undergoes the same transformation.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Thorin clears his throat and looks away, hurriedly reaching out to grab a roll and scrape some butter onto his knife. He picks up some chicken and puts it on quickly before finally looking up again at the oppressing silence.

Everyone at the table is watching him, Bilbo included. Unlike the others, who are slack-jawed or nervous, Bilbo looks entirely too wonder-struck.

Thorin can’t stand it.

“Don’t let me stop you. I would like to hear about your time in the Shire as well.” He hesitates. “If you are still willing to speak of it.”

A slow smile breaks out on Bilbo’s face, like sun across the mountain. “Of course.”

As he continues his tale, Thorin cannot help but watch him, seeing the animation in his face and watching his hands gesture erratically with every new punchline. Soon his nephews are lost to giggles again and Óin is holding his ear trumpet firmly to his ear and watching Bilbo avidly.

Even Glóin, slowly coming out of his foul mood, chuckles, and Dwalin snorts beside Thorin once or twice.

When he happens to catch Gandalf’s eye he sees the pity is gone, but the annoying twinkle that Thorin detests so much is back. And when he glances over at Balin it is to be met with an approving smile.

But they are all ignored in favour of Bilbo, who finishes his story of tracking down his silverware and the ongoing struggle against Lobelia to keep Bag-End out of her clutches.

“This time I wrote a will.” Bilbo concludes. “If anything happens to me Bag-End goes to Drogo and Primula. They’re newlyweds and could do with a place if they’re ever able to leave Prim’s parents. I’d far rather it went to them than Lobelia.”

Thorin snorts down at his plate and when he looks up it is to meet Bilbo’s eyes, which are sparkling. There is laughter dancing on his lips and Thorin finds himself caught once more. He has not seen Bilbo so happy in years.

This, Thorin realizes, this would be enough. If he cannot have Bilbo’s heart, he can have these moments. His friendship, his smiles and his jokes.

It is enough.

* * *

Thorin is surprised when the knock on his door that night comes from Kíli.

He is even more surprised when he sees the look on his nephew’s face.

“Kíli, what are you doing here? It’s late for a visit.”

It is late and Thorin is tired. He isn’t sure whether tonight he’ll be able to get to sleep but he is intending to try, feeling at least a little calmer than he had yesterday.

“Everyone says I should be talking to you.” Kíli says, making Thorin look over sharply, questions written on his face. “I keep asking and they say to ask you.”

“Who says? What are you talking about?”

The younger Dwarf is frowning, staring down at his hands as he stands just inside the closed door. The distance between them sets Thorin slightly on edge, and he stands up straighter where he has stopped in surprise at Kíli’s entrance, who is still standing in the middle of the room.

“Mother is angry at you.” Kíli answers quietly, concern and something else in his voice. He still won’t meet Thorin’s eyes. “And Fíli is keeping secrets. They both know something. Something I’ve been asking you about for years now and gotten no answer for.”

Thorin swallows as understanding washes through him. Has he not been through enough today? Was his mistake to be shared with everybody?

“You would not like the answers you got. Please, _madtithbirzul_ do not ask this of me. I thought I had dissuaded you from these queries.”

“Maybe for a bit.” Kíli’s teeth bite at his lower lip briefly from nervousness. “But Fíli invited Bilbo back for my wedding after telling me not to, and now you’re all- everyone’s acting weird. _Amad_ has been angry all day, Fíli said he can’t tell me what’s going on if you don’t and Bilbo…” Kíli frowns. “Everyone saw you two earlier, at dinner. Why won’t you just tell him you love him so you can be together?”

“It is not so simple.”

“Please, Thorin.”

Kíli finally looks up and comes forward quickly, closing the distance with urgency shining in his eyes. Thorin smells wine on his breath and for the first time notices the flush on his nephew’s cheeks. Perhaps it was not only time that has built up Kíli’s courage.

“Please tell me what’s going on. I’m sick of not knowing. Everything I do or say seems to hurt you but then- I’m lost. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Like I said, you will not like the answers.” Thorin’s voice is close to a rasp, far too close. “I don’t keep this a secret to hurt you, Kíli. In fact I am trying to spare you.”

“It’s not working.” Thorin flinches, and his nephew’s features soften in apology. “I’m sorry, Uncle, but it’s not. I need to know. Whatever you’ve told Mother, told Fíli, I need to know it too.”

Thorin stares down at him, mind working. Kíli is right. It is unfair to leave him the only member of their family in the dark, and at this point he may be more of a hindrance than help if he goes through Bilbo’s visit unaware. The rest of the Company Thorin thinks he can handle, none of them would dare do anything that would truly displease him, but his nephews… they are another story if they thought what they were doing was for the best. Their ignorance is dangerous.

“Very well.” He says simply, watching with slight amusement as Kíli’s eyes widen in shock. He can’t blame him when Thorin is just as surprised at his own acquiescence. “Sit with me, and I will tell you everything.”

And he does.

Thorin wonders if repeating it so often lately has made him more willing to tell everything again. He holds back only a few things, things that are for him and Bilbo alone. How Thorin had never told Bilbo he loved him, or that he was his One. He does not tell Kíli why it was so easy for Bilbo to believe his lie.

No, he keeps a few things to himself, but the rest he shares openly. About Hugin, sending Bilbo away with the Arkenstone, the orchard being an intended courting gift, how Thorin had admitted everything to Bilbo only yesterday and gotten rejection in return.

“He hates me, Kíli.” Thorin’s voice is heavy, and it takes all the courage he has to meet his nephew’s eyes. His nephew who now knows everything, every horrible bit of the truth of what Thorin did to Bilbo- and to himself. “And he has every right to. I’ve destroyed everything. Any chance between us…” He takes a deep breath, looking away and clenching his fist while ignoring the now familiar ache. “It’s gone. Because I was so foolish.”

Kíli looks back at him steadily. He has taken in Thorin’s words quietly, remaining silent for longer than Thorin had thought possible for him. Now though he leans forward, eyes shining. 

“You don’t know that. Not yet. Not for sure. There is still a chance if you are willing to fight for it.”

“Kíli…”

“I saw him at dinner tonight.” His nephew speaks over him without hesitation. Dark eyes are knowing as Thorin meets them. “Whatever he thinks, he doesn’t hate you.”

“He should.” It is pitiful but not untrue.

“I’ve never seen you give up so easily before. Who would have thought you cared so little for the One of your heart?”

Thorin flinches, looking up in surprise at the cruel words.

“I do not want to hurt him anymore.” Thorin says quietly. “I’m scared of what he will say because whatever it is, the worst thing he could say… it will be true.”

Silence falls between them and Thorin looks away when his nephew’s gaze gets too heavy. He knows the weight of guilt and shame well, but they only seem worse looking into Kíli’s eyes. Even now the other Dwarf has faith in him. Faith he does not feel he deserves.

How is it that he has lived so many more years than both his nephews, yet he feels he is more foolhardy than they will ever be? He has not only let himself and Bilbo down, but his entire family.

He looks back up when Kíli finally clears his throat.

“Someone once told me that we are sons of Durin.” Kíli’s eyes burn into his. “And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.”

Thorin very nearly flinches.

“He has said he wants nothing more than friendship.”

“He’s scared.” Kíli says softly. “You broke his heart. I doubt he’s eager to risk it again.”

Thorin frowns, not having thought of it that way before. Is that Bilbo’s motivations? Not that he truly doesn’t love Thorin, but that he is protecting himself?

It goes against what he’d said, but Kíli is right; Bilbo’s attitude seems deeper than friendship. There is a weight to every interaction he and Thorin have, a significance to every glance that is not there between Thorin and anybody else. And if he has been watching as closely as he thinks, that weight had not been present between Bilbo and the others either.

“You believe I should pursue him?”

“I don’t think you should give up hope.” Kíli says carefully. “If I truly thought he didn’t want to be with you I would say so. But I think he still loves you.”

The feelings that invokes in Thorin are dangerous. “I do not think I should dare to hope for that.”

“Then don’t. Not yet. But don’t give up either.” He stands up and moves towards the door but Thorin barely looks over, turning back to stare at the fire and ponder Kíli’s words.

Can it be true? If he doesn’t give up and works to prove himself to Bilbo, would it end with the Hobbit in Thorin’s arms once more?

He knows what Bilbo said, and before Kíli’s visit he had been willing to respect that rejection. Not accept it, maybe, not yet, but he had intended on working to get there and reach a place where he could be happy for Bilbo moving on.

Now the temptation of being together is too much. If other people have seen it then maybe there is a chance. Thorin is stubborn enough to at least try.

He finally realizes he hasn’t heard the door open and glances over to see Kíli hesitating before leaving. “You really did all of this so Tauriel and I could be together?”

Thorin expression turns sharp as a thought occurs to him. “This is not your fault.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just…” Kíli trails off. “Thank you, Uncle.” Something crosses his face, there and gone in an instant. “I would have left Erebor to be with her if it had come to that.”

“I know.” Thorin says softly.

He understands, truly. He would have left too, for the Shire to be with Bilbo, if Fíli was not so young. Too young to bear the weight of being king. Thorin has spent many years taking care of his nephews- he was not about to stop now, even if the cost was his own happiness.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not in such a way.”

Kíli looks torn for a moment before moving forward and clasping Thorin’s forearm, bringing their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” he repeats. “All will be made well. You’ll see.”

Before Thorin can question his certainty Kíli leaves, slipping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you all so much for the reaction to this story, your comments are completely flooring me in the best way possible! Best readers in the world. <3  
> I know this chapter was shorter but I will probably end up caving and posting 3 new chapters this week instead of 2.  
> Also I know some of you might have been expecting more from Kili's reaction, and while I do think his emotions about this reveal are very complicated I didn't feel the need to explore them too too heavily right now. I also think Kili is younger and more of an optimist, so he's more hopeful about how this will end than the rest of our characters.  
> I do have codas and extras planned for this universe and I can guarantee an in depth look at Kili's feelings about all of this is the plot for one of them. And if any of you have any suggestions for extra scenes and snippets you'd like me to write feel free to let me know as I'm currently making a list!  
> Thanks lovelies!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know the last couple of chapters have been like, 5k words, and this one is now 22k+, but am I doing anything to make my chapter lengths consistent here? Absolutely not. Hope you all don't mind  
> I did say I would be posting 3 chapters this week so here you are lovelies, and thank you again for your incredible comments. I am such a baby for the reactions, encouragement and rants I am getting from you, thank you.
> 
> Prepare yourself from some extreme secondhand embarrassment from reading this because I was feeling it just from writing it. Thorin just can't catch a break :( Also there's a flashback scene that I have put in italics, hopefully it doesn't throw anybody off.
> 
> nadad- brother

Thorin is nothing if not stubborn. And in the days following Kíli’s visit and Bilbo’s arrival, he proves it.

If Bilbo is surprised by Thorin’s sudden appearances throughout the day, he hides it well after the first few times it happens. Maybe he’d expected Thorin to avoid him- which wouldn’t have been wrong if Thorin didn’t have his entire family and a Wizard encouraging him not to give up and accept defeat.

He likes to think that if he truly thought Bilbo would be happier back in the Shire then he would let him go. He’s not one to pursue where he isn’t wanted, and he also knows that even if he had not proved himself respectful to the other’s wishes before, on their quest, he had grown enough now to do so. He never wants to force himself on anybody.

If Bilbo’s face didn’t change to look _that way_ every time Thorin entered a room he might have lost hope. A softening at the corners of the Hobbit’s eyes, shared looks between them across the room or table that nobody else seemed to receive, and easy smiles and laughter. There is just an ease that Thorin feels around Bilbo that he can’t seem to find anywhere else. The comfort snakes through whatever political difficulties or headaches Thorin’s currently suffering from to help him take a step back and relax from being king once in a while.

The others see it, or at least his family do. More than a few times Thorin catches Fíli and Kíli planning, and even though each encounter ends with them begging innocence, he knows it’s something to do with Bilbo.

They have both told him not to give up hope and promised things will end happily. Thorin is beginning to think they’ve each taken it as a challenge and are working together to ensure that’s just what happens.

He has warned them more than once not to meddle. If he is to win Bilbo’s heart again, it has to be his own doing. He can’t rely on anybody else.

So he’s told them to do nothing and leave him to it.

Now a part of him wishes he hadn’t.

A few days after Bilbo arrives things have settled somewhat. Bilbo seems far more comfortable for one, and Thorin is not so jealous and possessive of every moment they spend together like he had been that first day. He has also been working on not letting some of his more personal feelings show around Bilbo, but from some of the looks exchanged by the Company in their presence, he can’t say whether or not he is failing miserably.

He has always been hotheaded, and perhaps not as adept at masking his emotions as his parents would have liked, back one hundred years ago while suffering yet another visit from Thranduil. He can admit that it isn’t a trait that he has improved with time.

But he is trying. And if the others knew the truth breadth of what had happened between him and Bilbo, they would likely agree that he is doing very well.

For if anyone looks at Thorin, they will not see the heartbreak in his eyes, or catch the hesitancy in his posture whenever he is around Bilbo. He is not a tactile Dwarf with anybody, and so the lack of contact between him and the Hobbit is unnoticed by all except the two of them, as it is such a stark contrast to their relationship from years ago.

To most, Thorin looks friendlier with Bilbo than they might have expected. At least that is the impression to the general public. Select members of the Company know otherwise, and a few others even privately think their interactions lack something that had been so prevalent before, but even they don’t see reason to comment or interfere.

Or at least, not until Thorin sees for himself what Kíli had been talking about. It is about a week and a half after Bilbo’s return. Thorin has made sure to see him at least once a day, usually more, and by now they have settled into a kind of routine. Bilbo had spent his first day with the rest of the Company, which had simultaneously made Thorin extremely jealous that his duties tore him away for a few hours but had also warmed his heart. The next day the Hobbit had gone into Dale and apparently spent his hours with Bard and Bofur, taking in the restorations of the Human city.

It was on the third day that he speaks to Thorin about the reparations of Erebor.

The two of them have ended up side by side during another dinner of the Company. The novelty of Bilbo’s presence has worn off slightly by then, and for the first time Thorin finds they are able to comfortably have a conversation between themselves without having to completely leave the others to do so. He can’t help but selfishly hope their own discussion amongst themselves lasted for the rest of the evening.

“It looks so different.” Bilbo smiles and looks almost proud, something the king tries not to read too much into. Their plates have been scraped clean, Bilbo doing a more thorough job than Thorin, who has a few traces of gravy still visible on his ceramic. “I would love to look around and take it all in.”

Thorin doesn’t bother masking his surprise that Bilbo hasn’t already done so. “You should. If anybody deserves to see Erebor in its glory, it is you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He cocks his head slightly, wondering if Bilbo is fishing for compliments on purpose- a habit the Hobbit consistently denies having, but Thorin knows is something he does occasionally- but sees only confusion looking back at him.

“Without you we never would have won our home back.” He says plainly. “Every Dwarf in this kingdom owes you a great debt.”

“Oh.” Bilbo flushes, taking them both by surprise. “I don’t think so. You all would have managed somehow.”

“Master Baggins,” Thorin still struggles to force the proper name from his lips, finding himself needing to catch his tongue at the last moment every time as the name Bilbo threatened to come from his mouth instead. Something in Bilbo’s expression shifts at the propriety and Thorin resists the urge to grit his teeth in frustration. “There are many who would fight you upon hearing such words, but none more so than I. Do not try and understate your role in our history.” Their eyes meet, both of them searching one another. “I promise I will not stand for it.”

Bilbo’s blush stays brightly on his cheeks but his eyes are defiant as they holds his.

“Very well then, I’m not one for false modesty. But I hope in portraying my part you have not forgotten your own.” His words become entirely too warm. “There are few things I would fight for, you know, but you- your honour is one of them.”

For a second Thorin doesn’t speak and finally he is forced to look away. “That is very kind.”

He does not say that he had given up all hope of honour when he had watched Bilbo ride away from Erebor in the rain all those years ago. The words will not come and now is not the time. Besides, he suspects Bilbo already knows. He has done his best to make it clear since his return after all.

“Thorin.”

For a moment Bilbo seems to forget where they are, and with the way he is looking at the Dwarf, Thorin finds himself doing the same, completely caught in the earnest way the Hobbit leans forward, capturing his attention with no chance of it escaping.

“You do know that I- you understand how highly I think of you, don’t you?”

“I had not dared to hope for such a thing, no.” His mouth goes dry. “I would not blame you if I was no better than a common Orc in your eyes.”

Bilbo’s expression morphs into something sad, pulling at Thorin’s heartstrings. “Thorin be serious.”

He looks back in bewilderment. “I am.”

Now Bilbo nods ever so slightly as if he should have expected the answer all along. In honesty Thorin does not know how he had not. He had spent so much time thinking so lowly of himself that the idea Bilbo doesn’t share his opinion is almost unbelievable.

“I don’t hate you, Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice is hushed, and he’s glad, because while the others are loud and boisterous, and the beginnings of a song are beginning to reach them from the opposite end of the table, this is not a conversation Thorin would like to have overheard. “I don’t think I ever could.”

He swallows. “But still that does not mean-”

“I think more highly of you than anybody else.” The words are simple but they hit Thorin so strongly he freezes. “You are the greatest person I have ever known.”

He can say nothing.

“That’s why it hurt so much whenever you did anything wrong. Whenever you fell short of who I had built you up to be in my head.”

The Hobbit is still speaking somehow, and Thorin does not know where this strength of Bilbo’s comes from, but he cannot help but be in awe of it. There is no shame on his face, no pride. Only unassuming honesty, and Thorin wishes he had some of the same.

Again Bilbo leans forward as if urging him to understand. “Please believe me.”

“Bilbo.” The name slips out in a whisper entirely without his permission and Thorin cringes. “Master Baggins. Do not say such things when I don’t deserve them.”

Frustration meets his words. “Self-deprecation only goes so far before it starts to grow annoying, Thorin.”

“It is honesty and nothing more.” He offers a useless smile. “I hurt you, the last person who deserved it. Some things I will not forgive myself for.”

They are far too close to one another and both of them seem to realize it at the same time, jerking back and causing several pairs of eyes to shoot over in appraisal. Thorin catches Bofur’s and sees the miner’s gaze narrow as he looks between them.

Thorin clears his throat significantly and all but Bofur look away. The miner still watches them in consideration but Thorin has turned back to Bilbo in a concerted effort to ignore him.

“Thank you, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo doesn’t look back up at him, instead staring down at his plate. Annoyance is coming from him in waves, and Thorin wonders whether it is directed at him, the others, or Bilbo himself.

“I mean it.” The Hobbit says quietly, still not looking up.

“I know.” And Thorin does. Bilbo is a good liar, it’s true, but Thorin knows when he is telling the truth.

He might not have earned Bilbo’s high estimation of him, but he will do nothing to try to change his mind. Thorin is far too selfish and greedy for that.

No all he can do is try and live up to Bilbo’s opinion. It has been how he tried to live since sending Bilbo away, so there won’t be much of a change really.

“I do not need to tell you that I think the same of you.” He says to Bilbo, affection creeping in as he saw the Hobbit’s ears turn red. “There has never been anybody more worth knowing. And if it is something you would like, I will personally show you around Erebor so you may see the ways it has changed.”

Bilbo doesn’t say anything but there is a small smile on his face as he nods, and Thorin cannot help but be proud of himself for putting it there.

He lets Bilbo alone and withdraws into himself, replaying their conversation as Bilbo continues to sit quietly beside him and the others entertain themselves. He is too busy marveling at Bilbo’s agreement to his offer to join in, and minutes later when he knows he can’t stay seated for another second, he stands, waving away the surprised looks.

“I must withdraw.” He announces taking in their faces. “Feel free to carry on without me.”

He walks to his chambers with a measured pace but when he reaches them he gives up any hope of doing work. His thoughts are filled with Bilbo. Bilbo telling Thorin he is the best person he has ever known. Bilbo looking at him without anger or betrayal or hurt. Bilbo leaning forward and speaking as if Thorin not seeing his own worth is something painful to him.

He remembers what Kíli had said and what Fíli had hinted at. Even Gandalf may have been trying to nudge Thorin to the right conclusion in his annoyingly unhelpful way. Can it be true that Bilbo’s feelings have not disappeared as Thorin has both hoped and feared they would?

His words tonight by no means confirm that hope, but Thorin can’t help but think maybe… it gives him a chance doesn’t it?

He would be a fool not to take it.

And so by the end of the night, while laying on his back in his bed, Thorin has decided. He will try once more to earn Bilbo’s love. A courtship can last months in Dwarvish culture, and though Thorin only has less than a month now before Bilbo is set to return home, he will not let the opportunity slip away. It is time that he steps up.

If only he had remembered just how horrible he is at anything regarding relationships.

As soon as he puts pressure on himself to try and be friendly or warm towards somebody, he more often scares them away than entices them. He doesn’t know what it is that makes him go from- well, if not at ease with somebody, then at least not so uncomfortable he visibly radiates unease. Whatever it is, now that Thorin has actually decided to try and woo Bilbo again, he feels the full pressure of that task and what will happen if it all goes horribly wrong.

It does not help that Thorin and Bilbo have years of history, or that they had been in a relationship before. In fact, it only makes things worse, because now Thorin knows what he ill go through if this fails. He knows exactly what Bilbo likes, and to make things perfect is impossible. To get close is likely just as much of a feat.

Ideally it would be spring rather than summer, because spring is Bilbo’s favourite season since it marks the end of winter. In a perfect world Thorin would have all the time in the world to devote to wooing Bilbo again, but in reality his schedule is so busy that he cannot fulfill his promise of showing Bilbo around Erebor until several days after their conversation.

Over two weeks after he has arrived and Thorin thinks that surely Bilbo has gotten somebody else to show him by now. Bofur, perhaps, who had undoubtedly offered on Bilbo’s first day back.

But once again Bilbo pleasantly surprises him when he asks. “I waited for you of course. I know how busy you are, I never expected you to be able to clear your schedule so quickly for me.”

Any possible held-back emotion or tenseness resulting from their conversation at dinner days ago is thankfully absent. Thorin wonders if Bilbo makes everybody feel so unusually at ease, or if it is just him he has this special effect on.

I should have, Thorin thinks in reply to Bilbo’s words but does not say it. He had tried to clear his schedule, but Balin wouldn’t allow it, which had caused quite the row between them and for Thorin to sulk for the next two days.

Instead of saying any of that however, he clears his throat. “I have managed to wrestle one day free and thought this was the best chance we may get in a while.”

“An entire day?” Regret flashes through him quickly at the surprise Bilbo clearly feels. “I’ll try not to waste your time.”

Again Thorin bites his tongue, but Bilbo flashes him a smile and he realizes that they had better leave the Hobbit’s chambers quickly before he does something impulsive.

It’s a decision he immediately regrets when they leave the sitting room only to find Dís making her way down the hall towards them.

Dís stops at the sight of the two of them together. Thorin slows as well, but Bilbo, either oblivious or exacting his revenge on Thorin by making things worse, beams and moves towards the Dwarrowdam.

“Lady Dis!” He calls and scuttles ahead. Dido huffs quietly in humor and follows him while Thorin steels himself and forces his feet forward as well. “I haven’t seen much of you these past few days.”

How interesting, Thorin thinks. He has not seen Dís since they argued in his chambers the day Bilbo arrived, but it seems she has no such hesitance when it comes to the Hobbit.

“Master Baggins.” Her scowl aimed at Thorin falls away immediately into a smile when Bilbo stops before her. He notes the several guards around her and wonders whether she is coming back from listening to petitioners. “I am sorry I have been busy. Please excuse my manners.”

“Not at all,” Bilbo says happily, not seeming to notice the silent stand off between siblings he is currently in the middle of. “I’m relieved to know it isn’t something I’ve done to put you off.”

“Oh no.” Now Dís does look back at Thorin, eyes flashing. “Nothing _you’ve_ done.”

“Dís.” Thorin says gruffly. “We don’t wish to hold you from anything important.”

“Thorin is showing me around Erebor,” Bilbo says easily, though Thorin sees the way his eyes are moving between them now. Obviously he has finally picked up on the tension in the air. “Cleared his schedule for the day and everything.”

“Has he really?” Thorin thinks there’s genuine surprise mixed in with the scorn, and he looks away.

“Who better to show me how things have changed but the king?” The shorter one of them says, and now it is obvious he is carrying the weight of conversation. He’s looking at Thorin, the Dwarf can feel the questioning eyes, but he still looks away.

“Who indeed?” Dís parrots and then shocks them all by saying, “I wonder, Master Baggins, whether you would mind if I join you both?”

She does not ask Thorin, a fact which does not escape any of them, but when he finally looks over to see Bilbo glance at him as if for permission, he sighs and nods.

Dwalin makes a sound behind him, but it is too low for anyone but Thorin to hear, and he does not look back.

“You’re more than welcome.”

“Wonderful, thank you.” Dís turns back and addresses about half of her guards. “You may take the rest of the morning for yourselves, Carrow and Anya will attend me.”

It is obviously an unexpected reprieve but none of them hesitate to take it. Thorin watches as Carrow and Anya seamlessly slip into formation with Dido and Thorin’s own guards.

“Won’t you come up to walk with us Dwalin?” Bilbo asks over his shoulder as they begin moving again.

He is between the two royals and Thorin is glad for the space from his sister. He imagines them walking with Dís beside him, holding a knife against his side the entire time, and shudders at the thought.

“Not while I’m on duty I won’t,” Dwalin rumbles. “Later maybe.”

The Hobbit shrugs in easy acceptance and then looks back over and up at Thorin. “So where to first?”

Immediately he knows his expression melts from annoyance to warmth, and though he doesn’t try and stop it, he does wish his sister and Dwalin weren’t around to see him so completely lovestruck. “Wherever you like. I am yours to command for the day.”

Bilbo’s smile grows more genuine and happiness shines from his eyes at that. “Well then why don’t we just work our way from the top down?”

“As you wish,” Thorin says and ignores the strange unreadable look his sister is giving him. “These upper levels are the homes of the nobles as you know. Visiting dignitaries, the royal family and any close friends live in this wing of the highest level of Erebor’s living quarters.”

The ravens’ room is higher, of course. And some old spaces used for nothing but storage. But of the commonly used floors, theirs is the highest; which Bilbo is of course aware of.

“Yes.” They walk past the library and it is only because Thorin is watching so closely that he sees Bilbo glance over to the closed doors, step faltering.

“Have you visited our royal library?” Dís asks and both Thorin and Bilbo tense.

Her sharp eyes miss nothing, Thorin will not pretend to think otherwise, and he knows his sister has asked this on purpose trying to figure out what must to her be a puzzling situation.

Not only has her brother admitted to being in love with Bilbo and sending him away, but now that the Hobbit is back Thorin has taken an entire day off of work to do nothing more than show him around. For those around Thorin, who have seen how he’s thrown himself into ruling Erebor with abandon since Bilbo left, his change in demeanor must be jarring.

She knows why, of course. But she must be unsure of what exactly Thorin’s aim is here. And if it had been anybody but Dís with them, Thorin might have been glad, because now that he and Bilbo plan to spend the whole day together he finds himself at a bit of a loss.

“I have seen it before.” Bilbo hesitates. “Did you want to go in?”

“Oh no.” Dís’ smile is cruel in the way only a sibling’s can be. “I would not be opposed, but Thorin has not stepped foot in the library since reclaiming Erebor. At least not to mine or anyone else’s knowledge.”

His reply is stiff, and he stares ahead as they continue to walk. “Ori is more than adept at bringing me whatever I may need. He saves me a lot of time searching and allows me to focus on other tasks.”

“So you have said before.” Dís replies smoothly, and when he chances a glance over at them he sees her watching Bilbo in consideration. Bilbo who looks stricken and has eyes only for Thorin.

He swallows and looks away again quickly. “You can of course visit it at your leisure, Master Baggins. No books are barred to you.” A moment of silence before he summons the courage to ask. “Would you like to see it now?”

They are still walking but it would be simple enough to turn around and head back. Relief fills Thorin when he sees Bilbo shake his head in his periphery.

“No.” Is the quiet reply. “Perhaps another time, thank you.”

“Very well. Shall we go down?”

Dís leaves them after Bilbo sees the coronation room. Her attitude towards Thorin has softened as the morning slowly passes, and he wonders whether he or Bilbo is the reason. Whatever it is, he is grateful by the time she leaves, especially when she stops by his side at the door and meets his eyes, touching his hand lightly.

“I will visit you later,” she says quietly, glancing once more back at Bilbo who is taking everything in curiously, before slipping away.

The guards wait at the door as they visit the other throne room, so only Thorin is present to see the way Bilbo stares up at the stone chair on the dais. The small hands clench into fists as hazel eyes fall on the empty space of the Arkenstone.

“You haven’t put it back.”

Thorin cannot look away from Bilbo. “No.”

Still Bilbo stares at the back of the throne, and from the side his profile looks incredibly beautiful. Fierce and soft in equal measure, kind and strong.

“Why?”

He wonders if that is what Bilbo truly wants to know. Does he care about why Thorin hasn’t put it back or is his true question why he sent it away with Bilbo in the first place?

“I’m not sure.” He decides brutal honesty may be best. Lies have failed him so miserably in the past. “Part of me keeps hoping you’ll ask for it back.”

Bilbo blinks and finally looks back at him. “I told you I don’t want it.”

“I know.” Thorin says heavily. “And I understand. But the Arkenstone represents different things to each of us.”

To Bilbo it must only be a symbol of greed and Thorin’s weakness for wealth. A reminder of that awful day on the rampart.

But to Thorin… to Thorin the Arkenstone is the heart of Erebor and its king. His heart. It is the most precious thing he has to give, and giving it away had been more than mere proof he had overcome the dragon sickness, it had been him placing Bilbo above anything else, even Erebor.

He wishes he could tell Bilbo that, express himself clearly. But the Hobbit is already turning away and making his way from the room back to Erebor’s halls.

They come across a few of the others. Bombur greets them in the kitchens, face red as he excuses himself from the other cooks and spares a few minutes to talk. Then there is Glóin outside of the treasury, which both Bilbo and Thorin refuse to go in, and Gandalf in the marketplace doing who knows what. Nori also appears out of nowhere as they’re talking to the Wizard, but he spends less time talking with Thorin and Bilbo than tormenting Dwalin.

And eventually they make their way down to the mines and meet with Bifur and Bofur. The former is only too happy to greet them both, but Bofur continues his chosen form of protest and ignores Thorin entirely. Luckily with Bifur there it is not so obvious as it otherwise would have been.

As they walk back up from the mines though they’re both quiet. Thorin is wondering what it will take for the miner to forgive him, if anything, until Bilbo breaks the silence.

“I know why Bofur isn’t speaking to you.” Bilbo’s hands are fidgeting restlessly in front of him and if this had been four years ago Thorin would have reached over to stop the nervous habit. Now he only clenches his own fists, nails digging into his palms. “I’ve asked him to stop.”

He looks over in surprise. “You have?”

Bilbo nods decisively before glancing back at their guards and lowering his voice.

“What happened between you and I… well it’s between the two of us and nobody else. Not even Bofur. I reminded him that I’m an adult, thank you very much, and while it’s touching, I don’t need him to punish you on my behalf.” His voice softens. “Especially when I don’t think it’s a punishment you deserve.”

Thorin’s tongue feels heavy but his mind races. “What did he say?”

“He said he understood all of that very well but until you’d won back his respect he wasn’t going to pretend everything was like it once was. I’m sorry.” And he does look sorry. His eyes are wide and pitying as he looks up to meet Thorin’s eyes.

“Please.” His voice is rough but not the croak he had feared it would be. “Please don’t apologize to me.”

They’re making their way back up to their living quarters. Earlier they had eaten lunch in the market after battling through crowds of Dwarves eager to get a glimpse of them both; the king and his Hobbit. Bilbo is something of a celebrity here, a folktale as the rest of the Company are. Nobody had passed them by today without stopping to at least take notice.

Now though it is nearing dinner and Thorin is glad of it. He is tired and feels wrung out like a wet cloth.

He has shown Bilbo his home today. This is the kingdom Thorin remembers from childhood, the place he had spent almost his entire life fighting to get back to. On their journey he knew Bilbo had never understood the appeal of the mountain, beyond the fact it was where most of the Dwarves had come from, much like Bilbo’s Shire. To be able to show him what they had missed all of those years, and all they had accomplished since winning it back, has warmed Thorin’s heart.

But it had been nothing compared to the way Bilbo’s eyes had lit up throughout their tour. In the bathhouses and the kitchens he’d asked endless questions and seemed more than impressed. In the market he had stopped at every Dwarfling who had called his name and laughed with every stall keeper while negotiating prices for a few things.

This was Erebor Thorin thinks. And finally Bilbo is seeing it as it should be. No longer cold and haunted by ghosts as it was under Smaug’s reign, this is a place of art and beauty. When they had gone past the forges and Bilbo talked to one Dwarf name Nani working on a courting gift for her beloved, there had been something appreciative and understanding in Bilbo’s attitude from then on.

It had reminded Thorin of the orchard, of course, and he wonders why he has not shown it to Bilbo. It is his after all, built for him and upkept for him in case this exact opportunity ever came about.

Thorin shakes his head. He knows why. It is because he is selfish and scared that he hasn’t mentioned the orchard, and that is why he still hadn’t said a thing as they had left Nani to continue. To tell Bilbo he had made a mistake and be rejected was one thing. To show Bilbo the orchard, perhaps the only thing here that could truly pull the Hobbit away from the Shire, and still be denied, was another level of heartbreak entirely.

When they reach the room they have used to dine in lately some of the others are already there. Glóin and Óin are talking with Dori. Dwalin leaves Thorin’s back to go and sit heavily beside Nori and Balin, who are discussing something or other.

Thorin’s nephews are there as well but there is no sign of Tauriel. She has been eating with Gimli and Legolas an awful lot since the prince had come and Thorin hopes Kíli doesn’t mind.

From the way he looks up at their entrance and waves the two of them over with a smile Thorin suspects his worry is unnecessary.

As they walk over to join them Thorin feels a light touch at his wrist.

“Thank you for today.” Bilbo is smiling up at him, guileless and happy. “I enjoyed it.”

And Thorin, fool of all fools he was, lost himself so far in Bilbo’s eyes that he actually stumbles, tripping on nothing more than his own two feet and barely catching himself on the edge of the table.

He grunts as his wrist jolts at both the odd angle and sudden pressure, twinging slightly in pain before he shakes it out.

Bilbo looks worried and surprised, and moves closer immediately. “Oh, are you okay?”

He seems to grab Thorin’s hand without thinking about it and holds it in a grip so loose it is barely there.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “I mean it’s alright. I only tripped. It was nothing.”

Gods above, he thinks to himself silently and closes his eyes in mortification. He just knows Fíli and Kíli are able to hear everything and will never let him forget this.

“Forget it, no need to make a fuss,” he pulls his wrist away and shakes it out, not feeling any pain as he does. It truly had been nothing. “I’m glad you had a good time. I did too. We should eat now.”

He cringes again, visibly now, at how brusque he sounds. It is as if he is Durin himself, newly sculpted by Mahal and just learning the proper way to behave around other living beings.

Though he doubts Durin ever felt as primitive and awkward as Thorin does now.

Bilbo’s eyes are wide. “Well alright then. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He gives his wrist another shake and finally dares to look only to find the other Dwarves staring at them open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Thorin only avoids blushing through sheer force of will.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Bilbo is muttering quietly and Thorin suspects he was not meant to hear. “You only tripped.”

“I’m not-” He starts in frustration and then catches himself, gentling his tone. He is meant to be winning Bilbo back for Eru’s sake, not snapping at him when he does nothing wrong. “I am not embarrassed.”

“Could have fooled me.” Bilbo says even lower, but Thorin still hears and shoots him a look, if only to avoid seeing the appalled expressions of the other Dwarves around them.

“Well don’t wait.” Thorin speaks loudly before any of them can. “Sit. Dinner will be out soon.”

It only devolves from there of course.

He tries to recover somehow but it seems that isn’t Mahal’s will for the day. As the few that had been missing trickle in, Thorin makes a concentrated effort to keep Bilbo’s attention and strike up conversation. Any conversation at all would do he thinks desperately.

Somehow his asking about the Shire has turned on its head, and he realizes only after the words have left his mouth that he has ended up not only insulting Hobbits in general, but their homes as well.

Thorin in all of his stupidity has, entirely without meaning to, called Hobbit-holes small.

Bilbo’s expression morphs into a frown and for the first time all day his voice grows cold. Thorin feels the loss of ease between them keenly.

“Well we can’t all be as tall as Dwarves. Nor do we particularly want to be.”

And then he turns decidedly away to talk to Bombur, who shoots Thorin a wide-eyed and apologetic look over Bilbo’s head, as if to try and reassure him that however it had happened, Bombur hadn’t done this on purpose.

Thorin turns to Balin in disgust with himself but only manages five minutes before he is trying to get Bilbo’s attention again.

Somehow he messes up once more. After Bombur practically ignores Bilbo so the Hobbit will pay attention to Thorin, the king only makes things worse.

“Before I hadn’t meant to call your homes small, of course.” He runs a hand through his hair and then curses as a ring gets caught on a curl and he has to spend an awkward minute or so getting it free while still speaking to distract Bilbo from the fact he is practically yanking his own hair out of his head in desperation. “I was trying to say that you don’t need such large rooms because none of you have to put on airs by presenting yourselves as nobles. Since none of you have status or rank.”

The others seem to be in pain from watching him flounder so badly. Glóin looks like it is a physical discomfort to see Thorin’s tongue trip over his words, and Dwalin stares, shakes his head, and pushes back from the table before he leaves the room entirely.

Well good, Thorin thinks grumpily to himself as he finally pulls his caught hand free and panics internally. Let them suffer second-hand embarrassment. Serves them all right.

“I only meant-”

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s tone isn’t mad but it isn’t amused either. “Maybe you should just stop talking now.”

It is with every scrap of dignity he has left that the king falls silent, nods and finally turns to his meal. When he feels a kick under the table he looks up and across to see Fíli and Kíli looking at him in horrified embarrassment.

It takes his fiercest glare to get them to stop, and even then Thorin suspects the look returns as soon as he goes back to staring at his plate with a frown.

And today had been going so well too, he thinks mournfully. He’d felt like they’d made real progress and regained some of that familiarity from years ago, as if it had never gone away.

Well. He thinks bitterly. So much for that now. He would have an easier time of it if he was starting over from scratch.

Eventually the horrid dinner ends and Thorin is one of the first to leave. He intends on doing some work for the rest of the evening to distract himself from his own mortification. Work that he probably should have been doing all day rather than showing Bilbo around Erebor.

Caught in the small group of them leaving, he doesn’t notice Bilbo come up next to him until the Hobbit touches him on his arm again to get his attention.

“This doesn’t have to be so hard.” Bilbo says quietly, both of them ignoring the nosy eyes and ears of their companions. “You forget, I think, how well we already know each other.”

Thorin is not strong enough to handle any more embarrassment tonight and can only bow his head in supplication. He doesn’t have the will for anything else and finds he can’t meet Bilbo’s eyes.

“Good night, Master Baggins.”

The abrupt goodbye makes Bilbo frown and open his mouth but Thorin escapes by pushing through the others before he can even get a word out. There is only so much anybody can take after all, and he thinks running away might be the only way he makes it out of that room alive.

Nobody stops him and as he closes his office door behind him and slumps in his chair he thinks seriously about the merits of abdicating now and running off to live alone in some uninhabited mountain elsewhere.

It would never happen obviously, for many reasons. But a Dwarf could always dream.

* * *

When the Company opens his door and piles into his office not even an hour later Thorin feels his stomach sink. Their faces look grim- or in Nori’s case gleeful- and that can only mean bad things for him.

For days now they have watched him skirt around Bilbo, bumbling and fumbling as he went whenever he wasn’t glaring at them all to get lost and leave the two of them alone. What had happened today appears to be the breaking point and Thorin looks at all the Dwarves before him warily.

“What?”

“We can’t take it anymore.” Dwalin speaks gruffly with no hesitation. Straight to the point like always. “It’s obvious you’ve gotten over whatever was holding you back and have decided to court Bilbo.”

“And doing a piss-poor job too.” Nori interjects, not reacting at all to Thorin and Dwalin’s glares.

“We’d like to help.” Bombur rumbles softly in that gentle tone of his.

“And spare you the embarrassment of a repeat of today.” Fíli mutters. “Honestly Uncle, it was horrible.”

Thorin allows himself a frozen moment to take in exactly what they are saying to him before he clears his throat. “This does not concern any of you.”

“Ah, forget that!” Surprisingly it’s Balin who speaks. “We’ve tried to do things your way and it didn’t do anybody a spot of good. These past few years have proven that. If you could only look past that mountain of pride you’re buried under you could see we’ll be useful to you.”

“Balin, how can you of all people- when you know why-”

“It’s exactly because I know your reasons that I think this is the best solution. Something we should have done ages ago. If you need to change the perception of Bilbo in Erebor who better to do it than those who travelled with the lad for months and make up the majority of aristocracy here in the mountain?”

“We work with all types,” Bifur points out, coal stained hands hanging at his sides. “Every class and most sectors. If you want to spread a good word or two about Master Baggins then we aren’t a bad place to start.”

Thorin stares at them all helplessly and his desperation must be stronger than he thought because he finds his next words are. “What exactly are you all proposing?”

“Gossip of course.” Nori says happily, moving to snag one of the two vacant chairs in the room. “Stories from the quest, from the Battle and after. Bilbo helped in the initial reparations of Erebor, we can’t let ourselves forget that.”

“Or how he fought Azog after the Goblin Tunnels.” Dwalin grunts.

“His diplomatic skill.” Balin reminds them all.

“And he got us out of Thranduil’s dungeons!” Ori pipes up before seeming to catch himself and blushing faintly.

“Then there’s the fact that he’s the best of us at talking you out of all of your stubborn-headed ideas.” Óin says and doesn’t look the least bit cowed at the looks he receives. “Would any of you deny it?”

The others look away and Thorin purses his lips but doesn’t protest. Only because of the fact that Óin has cared for him since he was young does Thorin let him away with that.

“Everybody knows he took the Arkenstone before,” Kíli breaks in sounding thoughtful. “But not many realize it was to save us. Once we clear that up, they’re bound to think of him differently.”

“I almost killed him over that.” Thorin reminds them all, still full of regret even all these years later. That was not some mere obstacle to be swept away with a few words; Dwarves would stand by their king’s decision with unwavering loyalty in almost every instance. Thorin’s forgiveness of Bilbo is not shared by everybody in the mountain. “Why should they look at Bilbo’s deal as anything other than a betrayal?”

“The same reason you do,” Fíli shrugs. “Because it wasn’t a betrayal. We know Bilbo’s reasons and we forgave him and once they hear the truth others will too. Everyone else only knows he took the stone without telling you.”

Thorin looks at them all. “So you all think if we make our tale known- make Bilbo’s role in our history clear- that Erebor will accept him as my consort?”

“How could they not?” Dori speaks for the first time. “After all he’s done for us and our king we can never thank him enough. If he wants to stay among us, I think Erebor would gladly let him.”

He swallows at that, thinking. It is only then that he notices Bofur’s absence.

A weight settles heavily in his stomach.

“If you all think it would help,” he ignores how many of their faces light up. “Then I will be grateful for your assistance. I see no reason not to let the details and story of our quest be heard.” Still his voice is grim. “But I do not think it will be enough.”

Immediately any happy whispers fall from their faces.

“I was told that I could not be with Bilbo without bringing instability to the monarchy. I worry that added to Kíli’s upcoming marriage to Tauriel my courting Bilbo will upset too many of our people. Which is why,” Thorin glances at Fíli in apology, “if Bilbo does end up accepting me once more I am considering abdicating.”

It is a rare thing to truly silence a room full of Dwarves but Thorin feels no pride from accomplishing it. The looks in his friends’ eyes range from shocked to horrified to contemplative, and it is only the understanding on Fíli’s face that stops him from immediately taking back his words.

“But- you can’t!” Dwalin splutters.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Glóin says gruffly but he is looking around at the other Dwarves as if hoping one of them will back him up and explain why.

“It is a long way off, if it happens at all.” Thorin admits. “But I cannot hide that it is a very possible reality.”

“Don’t be daft.” Dwalin is glowering as hard as ever, as if attempting to change Thorin’s mind with his look alone. “You’re rightfully the king. If you went and married an Orc there’s nothing the kingdom could do about it. This is all just to make things easier, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid not brother.” Balin sounds regretfully. “The truth of the matter is that we simply don’t know the limits of Thorin’s authority in Erebor and I, for one, am not eager to test them. We’ve had too many upheavals lately to want to add more.”

“What are you on about, Balin?” Now Dwalin turns to the older Dwarf and Thorin can see they’re lost to one another, an argument brewing between the siblings. “This is Thorin. You’d just accept his leaving?”

“Obviously I’ll do all I can to make sure it doesn’t happen, but I don’t have the amount of power you seem to think I do. Neither does Thorin. Diplomacy and politics have never been your aspect, Dwalin, but they have been mine all my life. I know what I’m talking about.”

“So this might all be hypothetical.” Nori ventures. “If you announce your engagement and nothing happens, if Erebor doesn’t mind, then that’s it. We go on as always, but Bilbo stays with us.”

“This is all guesswork, as Bilbo has given no indication he will accept any proposal from me.” Thorin speaks more bluntly than he might have otherwise, raising his voice to be heard over Dwalin and Balin’s growing voices. “And I cannot convince myself he will given what has happened between us in the past. Showing him I have changed is my goal and what I am focusing on at present.”

“Aye, as to that.” Dori moves forward. “I feel compelled to offer my services to you in your courtship, sire.”

Thorin’s brows pull together. “Dori?”

“Us too!”

,Kíli and Fíli straighten and before Thorin can react the others are all chiming in, except for the Fundinsons who have moved past glowering at one another and are now positively yelling and ignoring everybody else.

“This is extremely inappropriate.” Thorin says baffled. “This is between Bilbo and myself-”

“Bugger that.” Glóin says gruffly and Óin nods beside him emphatically. “We’re Bilbo’s closest friends! Who better to persuade him than us? We can help more than hinder.”

“It is precisely because you are Bilbo’s friends that I cannot ask this of you all.” Thorin meets each of their eyes seriously. “If it was one of you we were all joining forces against how would that make you feel? Would the pressure that put on your shoulders be pleasant?”

When he knows he has their attention and softens his voice. “I know I would not be enticed by such tricks, especially in this area. No. I forbid you to do anything of the kind. Bilbo will not accept me because of pressure from his peers.”

Only a few of them nod, looking chastised. The others appear to be considering his words, and the rest look at Thorin as if he’s extremely stupid and missing a huge opportunity. But in this he will not be swayed. Bilbo will not feel obligated by his friends into this or be coerced in any way. Thorin will do this right or not at all.

And he knows that this would be one of Bilbo’s greatest insecurities brought to life. The entire Company conspiring together without him, about him, leaving him out and trying to force him to make a decision he might not agree with otherwise. There is a part of Thorin that is terrified if their friends did go through with this Bilbo would only say yes to his proposal in an effort to close the cultural divide between them, and earn that long-sought acceptance from the others.

Never mind the fact that he had earned it long ago. Thorin remembers whispered conversations in the dark from years ago, where Bilbo had confessed one of his fears of remaining in Erebor was whether he would ever truly feel like he belonged, with no lingering doubts or caveats. Having his friends gang up on him in such a way would likely bring those feelings of being an outsider back with full force.

“I appreciate the gesture.” He says finally. “But I cannot accept it. Those of you who are married,” he looks at Glóin and Bombur, “or courting will understand, can you not? Don’t forget this is a sacred and personal matter just because it concerns Bilbo and I.”

He spares a moment to wonder just when he allowed such a wide group to become so involved in his private life. Just over five years ago this would have been unthinkable. The number of friends he had used to have outside of his family had amounted to a mere two, and they were currently yelling at each other in the corner of the room.

“Dwalin, Balin! Enough. Shut up and listen a moment.” They turn their glowers onto him, but he glares back just as hard, even more unimpressed than they both are, and it is no small amount of satisfaction that fills him when each of them look away cowed.

He takes a deep breath.

“I will allow you to tell whoever you wish about our quest and the irreplaceable role Bilbo played. Anything else you can think of to tell the Dwarves of Erebor that sheds more light on his character is welcome. But you will not manipulate Bilbo in such a manner or involve yourselves in this directly, do you all understand?” He takes care to meet each other their eyes as they nod before resting his attention on his nephews. “Fíli and Kíli that includes you.”

The protests are immediate. “But we’re family!”

“And we know both of you better than anybody!” An exaggeration that Thorin does not have the heart to call either out on at the moment.

“Bilbo likes us better than anyone, we’ll be able to help when you mess up!”

“Kíli, shut up!” Fíli hisses at the younger of the two, and nudges him to drive the point home, before looking beseechingly at Thorin. “Sorry, Uncle, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. But we should be allowed to help! It will be fun!”

“No.” Thorin says. “I mean it boys, no more arguing. I won’t change my mind on this.”

Kíli’s sigh is long and loud and Fíli slumps.

“Fine,” the heir mutters sullenly.

“Very good.” He nods. “Now was there anything else?”

Twelve Dwarves shift in front of him, suddenly uncomfortable. Nori is still smiling wickedly and Thorin shoots him a glare. “Good. Now leave.”

Maybe it’s nice to have people know him so well, he muses to himself once he’s alone again. It lets him be as rude as he wants without having to censor his words or worry they’ll get offended over the slightest thing. Not when they know what his real anger looks like.

He pushes the thought away and falls back into his chair. Enough about them. Thorin has a courtship to plan.

* * *

Dwalin knocks and opens the door to his office fairly early the next morning. He looks the same as ever, but the expression on his face is one of careful nonchalance that Thorin doesn’t believe for a second.

“Nori is here to see you,” his guard says. “What should I do with him?”

The thief’s voice came a bit more faintly through the open door sounding amused and slightly impatient. “Oh, there’s a lot of things I’d like you to do-”

Thorin’s lips twitch, despite the sudden surge of nerves he feels at what Nori’s appearance means. “He can come in.”

Embarrassment gives Dwalin a constipated look that appears to be painful, but he nods and slides out of sight. Thorin hears a low mutter and then a growl, both coming from his best friend, before the door finally opens and Nori strolls through as cavalier as anything.

“Your Majesty.” His grin is wicked, and he falls easily into the same chair he had occupied the night before. Thorin tries not to let his amusement show. “Don’t you ever give your guards any days off? He could use one I think, tense old bear that he is.”

“Hello Nori.”

Thorin rubs his chin with one hand, taking in the other Dwarf. Always plain clothes with Nori, well worn and comfortable. He’d offered to pay for all of the ‘Ri brothers to have official garments of some kind made but Dori had appeared insulted by the offer, Ori embarrassed and Nori unconcerned, so he had left it alone quickly.

“Do you think that’s what’s causing his temper? I had thought your recent absence to the Iron Hills was to blame. Though you have been back a month and he doesn’t seem to have relaxed at all yet.” Raising his eyebrow he takes in his friend. “Have you not been making time for him?”

“Like I said,” Nori had frozen for only a moment before continuing on unconcerned and brushing off whatever trace of awkwardness he might be feeling. “He needs more days off.”

“I know what he does with those days off. Believe me he doesn’t.”

Now the answering grin is slow but knowingly. “Perhaps if you had a bit more _days off_ yourself-”

“No.” Thorin stops him immediately. “We won’t be talking about that.”

“Oh, so we can talk about Dwalin and I’s sex life-”

“Lesson received, Nori.” Thorin sighs at him in exasperation. “You’re worse than my nephews, you know.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Would probably do you good, a day off. Get rid of some of that tension you carry around with you.”

He decides to tease rather than take the suggestion seriously. “Why? Are you offering?”

“What?” Nori’s feet thump to the floor from where they’ve been hanging over the arm of the chair and he looks ready to get up and flee. “No! Not for all the wealth of Erebor!”

“Is that so.” Thorin can’t help but laugh a little and feel the last of his unease leave him. Whatever Nori has come to say, he can’t change it one way or another, and getting worked up did nobody any good so he might as well stop worrying if he can. “I should be insulted by that I think.”

“Please, you know that nobody prizes you for your looks.”

Nori waves him away and again Thorin knows he should be offended. It’s a good thing he has accepted his lack of allure in that department long ago and is now only amused by the honesty Nori shows.

“Though then again, Bilbo’s always had funny ideas about that sort of thing. Must come from being a Hobbit. Do you know he went on to me for almost a half hour about your appearance once? I’ve never wanted to escape a conversation more.”

Now Thorin thoroughly regrets bringing them to this point, though he is pleased to hear the compliment. Bilbo had always seemed happy with his appearance come to think of it. He’d been free with his compliments back when the two of them had been in a relationship, and while initially Thorin had thought he’d just done it to be nice, by the end he’d understood that the Hobbit really meant it.

_“You’re not as much to look at as Bombur of course,” Bilbo had said once while they lazed in front of the fire together one night. His confession had been accompanied by a blush. “He was who caught my eye the most when you all showed up to my house, you know. But there was something about you, right from the beginning, that drew my attention. Now I can’t imagine ever wanting anybody else.” He’d pursed his lips. “You’re too beautiful for your own good.”_

_Thorin had been so flustered with the compliment that he’d had to settle for ignoring it and bringing it up again after he’d allowed himself to think it over without making too big of a fool of himself. Instead he’d focused on the strangest part of Bilbo’s whole statement. “_ Bombur _?”_

_“Of course. He must have been very sought after before he married Cazi.” Bilbo had said easily in reply and then cocked his head when Thorin had only stared in disbelief. “Thorin, what is it? I didn’t mean to offend you. You are attractive to me, very much so, it was just that Bombur made the most striking first impression.”_

_“Are you being serious?”_

_That had made Bilbo frown. “Yes, absolutely.” At Thorin’s continued look of skepticism the Hobbit had huffed. “Fishing for compliments is never endearing, Thorin. And not helping you in the attractiveness department at all.”_

_“No, no.” He remembers his lips had been twitching like mad from suppressed laughter. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone but Cazi being attracted to Bombur before. No offense to him of course, but he’s not what Dwarves are typically drawn to.”_

_Bilbo’s eyebrows had furrowed. “What do you mean?”_

_“What do_ you _mean?” Thorin’s eyebrow had been so high he’s not sure it hadn’t gotten lost in his hairline. He’d eagerly jumped on the new bit of information that he could use to tease Bilbo with. “Is he so attractive to you?”_

_The Hobbit had looked incredibly scandalized. “Well- not anymore, now that we’re friends and I’m with you, obviously, but- well, how can you not notice him occasionally?”_

_“What is it then?” He’d pressed on with interest. “What about him?”_

_“Thorin! You’re being very rude.”_

_“I am not.”_

_“You really are.”_

_“Can I not take an interest in the traits you find desirable?” Thorin had asked and Bilbo had crossed his arms in exasperation._

_“Well I suppose but- this is Bombur!”_

_“Exactly! And as he isn’t deemed conventionally attractive by our race, I am wondering why he is so obviously desirous in yours.”_

_Bilbo had finally blushed and looked away. “He eats well. Anyone who obviously has enough food to feed not only himself but a partner is highly sought after in the Shire.”_

_Thorin had hummed and sat back, leaning against the arm of the couch, fingers idly playing with the hairs on the top of Bilbo’s feet in his lap. Perhaps it was that which was making Bilbo blush so hard. “So it is because of his size?”_

_“I suppose so, yes. Though he has a lovely personality as well. Bombur must have attracted some looks while in the Shire, and I’m sure if I had stayed to hear it, I would have been swamped with gossip and jealousy over him being in my home.”_

_They had gotten lots of stares on their ride from Bilbo’s but Thorin had always assumed that was a result of them being thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard in a place that wasn’t used to visitors. Had some of them been looks of interest from the Hobbits towards Bombur?_

_It was possible, he thought then. What he had chalked up to fear and suspicion might in fact have been nervous looks of attraction._

_“You do know I’ve gotten over all that now, don’t you? There is only one Dwarf who draws my eye these days and luckily I am allowed to look at him all I want.”_

_Thorin’s hand had tightened a bit around Bilbo’s foot and he’d met his eyes seriously. There was fondness in the Hobbit’s expression, and it had made Thorin’s heart race._

_“I had always thought you were teasing when you said that before. But if Hobbit standards are really so different from ours then I wonder if you are not telling the truth.”_

_It had been Bilbo’s turn to look shocked. “Teasing? Why on Middle-Earth would I be teasing?” Then he’d grown suspicious. “Is this more of you looking for compliments?”_

_“No.” Thorin had squeezed his foot. “You know, don’t you, that to most Dwarves I am unattractive?”_

_It had been more than surprise then that made Bilbo blink three times and jerk his head back slightly to eye Thorin closely. “What?”_

_The reaction had made his lips twitch. “My beard,” he explained, reaching up to touch his stubbled chin. “Or rather, my lack of one. It makes me ugly by our standards. And though I have earned my title of blacksmith, I don’t practice the craft often, which many would not be impressed by. The career of ruling is not a coveted one, and certainly does not draw many suitors, unless they are already nobles looking for more power.”_

_Bilbo had shaken his head. “I never would have guessed.”_

_“Hmm. I suspect I am more attractive to Humans than I am my own people.” His nose had wrinkled. “But as for Hobbits… now I’m not sure how I would measure up. My stomach is nothing to speak of, nor my cooking. I have appalling taste in interior decorating, though I at least have the necessary wealth to provide anything you might need. And I’ve never gardened a day in my life. I suspect it would be a complete disaster.”_

_Bilbo had laughed then. “What a pair we make! You have none of the typically desired traits for Hobbits and my lack of beard and craft beyond cooking must make me an absolutely subpar choice for Dwarves. Yet we’re as lovestruck as a pair of fauntlings.”_

_Thorin had smiled and continued to stroke Bilbo’s ankle with his thumb. “The gods were kind to ensure neither of us were alone. Though if you ever say I’m lovestruck when it is not just the two of us alone…”_

_“I know, I know, you big grump.” He’d moved forward to sit in Thorin’s lap. “You act as if everyone doesn’t know already.”_

_“Do they?”_

_“They better.” Bilbo had said happily. “Because even if you don’t think there would be many other suitors, I’m not looking forward to have to them for your affection.”_

_He’d lifted a hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek, bringing their faces closer together._

_“There would be no fight.” He whispered against Bilbo’s lips. “For I would never want another.”_

_“Not even someone like Glóin with a lovely beard?” But Bilbo had been teasing and his breathless question sounded more warm than doubtful._

_“Not even then.” He had promised and then he had closed the gap between them, their lips pressing together in a warm slide until they’d retired to the bedroom and-_

“Thorin? What’s happened to you now? Is this a sulk?”

“What?” He jerks his head over to meet Nori’s concerned gaze and immediately feels himself tense and grow embarrassed at having been so sidetracked. “No. I was… just lost in thought. What were you saying?”

“Never mind.”

Nori waves it away and Thorin is glad. This is what he got when he decided to allow himself to be anything other than gruff, distant and on his best behaviour.

“You know why I’m here.”

The sudden change in mood is enough to make Thorin sigh. “Yes.”

“Well don’t look so excited.”

“Should I?” Thorin traces the edge of his desk with one finger. “I’ve been preparing myself to be disappointed since I first asked you to look into this.”

“Mahal, you’re a drama-queen.” Nori complains. “Alright I’ll tell you before you work yourself up any further. I think you’ve got a chance.”

His head whips up so quickly Nori actually flinches back in surprise. “What did you say?”

“I think it can be done.” He shrugs, but suddenly Thorin is sure that he’s acting more casual than he really feels. “There are some who don’t like the idea of Bilbo joining the monarchy. Really don’t like it. But from what I’ve seen most people don’t mind all that much, and some of the ones who do said it wouldn’t be as big of an issue if they could be sure that Fíli would settle and marry a Dwarrowdam so that the line of succession would be, and I quote, ‘pure and untainted’. But there’s a lot of respect here for Bilbo and I think that will only get better with him being here and the rest of us clearing up the business with the Arkenstone. And there’s more respect for you on top of that. People want to see you happy after you made such a big deal of all the sacrifices you’ve made at your coronation.”

He shrugs again and shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know, Thorin, I think you should go ahead with it. Both because I think any uproar would die down and come to nothing and because I’m sick of you and Bilbo being fools. Um.” Finally he catches ,himself and for the first time in Thorin’s memory, seems to be a bit chagrined. “Sorry.”

But Nori could set fire to his desk and all the papers on it and Thorin wouldn’t be able to get mad at him right now, not after this news, and so he waves the apology off, too busy taking in everything Nori’s told him.

“What did you do to find this out? Who did you ask?”

“Ah, all over. The lower class all the way to the nobles. Like I told you when you first asked, there’s been a lot of gossip about Bilbo anyway, and I only encouraged it by asking their opinions on hypothetical situations.” His sharp smile returns. “I have missed drinking in the lower taverns with everyone ranting about the politicians and how corrupt the government is.”

Thorin shoots him a look. “Anything I should worry about?”

“Not you, no. Though I would cut any ties you have to Lord Farlo from the Blue Mountains, his people aren’t too happy with how he’s running his liquor business. The workers are being skimped on their pay.”

“Farlo,” Thorin wrinkles his nose. “Well I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. Though I’ll ask somebody to ensure his workers are compensated for anything they’ve rightfully earned.”

“Alright.” Nori sounds unconcerned but his eyes are sharp. “Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking about all this then?”

“Maybe if I knew what I thought I could.”

Nori leans forward, fingers picking up and fiddling with the few objects that aren’t papers that sit on Thorin’s desk. Perhaps Thorin should have been worried he would pocket one, but he doesn’t have the energy to spare for it.

“What do you think?”

“Me?” The elaborate head of hair looks up. “You really want my opinion?”

“You haven’t held back your views on anything else today, I see no reason for you to stop now.”

“That’s true I suppose,” Nori leans back into his seat, crossing his legs once more and fiddling with the carved lump of black quartz with veins of lapis lazuli, emerald, sapphire and ruby that serves as Thorin’s paperweight. “Well I’ve already said, haven’t I? I think you should throw it to the wind and risk it. You’ve been miserable since he left.”

“And if he rejects me?”

Because that is Thorin’s biggest fear. Not that Erebor will rise up in protest but that Bilbo will say no once more. If he does then Thorin knows this time it will be final. He would not try again.

“A very real possibility.” Nori admits. “But an unlikely one, I think.”

“Do you?” The question is out before Thorin can help it.

“Aye. He’s been making just as big of a fool of himself around you as you have with him.” Nori frowns. “Well, maybe not quite as big. You do seem to have a habit of distracting from anything embarrassing that Bilbo does with an action of your own moments later. Allowed him to slip under the radar a bit, lucky for him.”

“Nori this is no time for you to try and rile me up.” Thorin glares. “If you could take this seriously-”

“Alright, look.” Nori leans forward again and this time he does speak with intent. “You’ve messed up somehow, the whole Company knows that. There’s been these five years you both spent apart and made everyone around you miserable. Nothing we can do about that now. But come on.” He lowers his voice a bit, making sure he holds and keeps every bit of Thorin’s attention. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? Don’t answer that, I don’t need you to. So now that I’ve come and told you there’s no kingly obligations holding you back, why aren’t you jumping up right now to make your way to Bilbo and ask him to marry you? You’re not a coward, Thorin, and I’ve seen you face far worse things than this and come out triumphant.”

“I…” He trails off, no words coming to mind. “It would have to be slow… and done properly… a courtship that keeps to the traditions of the monarchy.”

“So, long and tedious and a farce because everyone knows the two of you aren’t exactly virgins.” Nori interjects but this time when Thorin levels a glower his way he does look apologetic. “Okay fine. Whatever. Do that then, what’s stopping you now?”

And Thorin thinks and thinks, but in the end there is only one answer. “Nothing.”

Nori looks entirely too smug. “There you go.”

The king stands abruptly. “I think I have a few things to do.”

Nori stands too. “That you do, sire. I won’t hold you up any longer.”

He throws the paperweight into the air one last time and then returns it to its spot on the desk before moving towards the door. A sudden thought makes Thorin call out his name to stop him.

“Nori.” The middle ‘Ri brother turns with a question written across his face. “Do you think if I had asked you to look into this five years ago the answer would have been the same?”

It’s a short while before Nori answers him. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any way to ever know.”

It isn’t the answer Thorin had been hoping for but nor is it the one he had dreaded. As it is, he thinks maybe it is for the best. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, Your Majesty. I’m rooting for you both.” Nori winks quickly, and then he is opening the door and walks away, leaving it swung open wide behind him.

Behind him Dwalin feels in his pocket where Nori had obviously just slipped something, but when Thorin moves forwards he watches Dwalin straighten instantly again.

“Thorin?”

“Come on Dwalin.” He says as he strides out into the hallway. “I have some visits to make.”

* * *

The first place Thorin goes to find Bofur is the miner’s new quarters.

They are on a lower floor, and again Thorin laments with a pang that the -Ur relatives had moved away from the rest of the Company. Almost as soon as they had set up the mines Bofur and Bifur had relocated to be closer to their work, and to leave Bombur with the compartments for himself after his wife Cazi and their five children had arrived with Dís’ caravan. Though the cook’s family more than filled the open rooms left by Bofur and their cousin, it somehow feels wrong to Thorin for them both to be so far away after they have all spent so long together.

But nevermind. Thorin supposes as he and his three guards make their way farther down. They are free to do as they wish, and though Thorin might not like it, he has no say in the matter unless he really wants to ostracize his friends with his need to control every little thing.

It is only because of Bombur that Thorin knows Bofur isn’t working today. The miner has chosen to take his much deserved time off work while Bilbo is visiting, and though Bilbo is currently busy with Fíli, Kíli, Tauriel and Legolas- or so Thorin had been informed by Balin this morning- Bofur might be taking a rare day to stay in his own quarters and relax.

If he is he will just have to deal with Thorin arriving unannounced as he currently plans. It is far past time for them to settle their differences, and although nobody has ever asked, he has grown to miss Bofur far more than he’d thought he would, considering he hadn’t cared much for the Dwarf until nearer the end of their quest.

Bilbo likes Bofur though, and Bofur has always seemed to care for Bilbo in turn. Even in the beginning of their acquaintance with the Hobbit, Bofur had been the first to truly treat Bilbo as an equal. Thorin will always respect him for that, and feel grateful to Bofur for making Bilbo feel at least a little welcomed while the rest of them had been too arrogant or ignorant to do the same.

Dwalin is with him, and though initially sullen when they set out, his face settles into a look of surprise when he finally realizes where they are going.

“Finally decided to sort this out too, have you? About time.”

Thorin throws him an extremely unimpressed glare, annoyed at his friend. “None of you have been any help in this department of course.” Is his reply, just as snarky.

“What were we to do about it?”

“Don’t act like you all don’t meddle constantly in my affairs. Why was this any different?”

Dwalin grumbles under his breath. “How were we to interfere when neither of you would talk about it? You never said a word, and all he would admit was that it was a disagreement over Bilbo, a matter in which none of us knew anything.”

“You decided not to interfere because you didn’t know the facts? I’m shocked, Dwalin truly, that’s very unlike you all.”

“Alright, easy now, don’t lose another friend because of your blasted temper.”

Thorin grits his teeth but can’t deny the accusation. Seconds later he swallows his pride. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I find myself… nervous.”

Dwalin’s expression doesn’t change but Thorin somehow knows he is taking more of an interest. “Was the argument really so bad?”

“Bad enough we haven’t spoken in five years.”

An unhappy noise escapes his guard. “Just fight it out with swords is what I would do.”

“Usually I would be more than happy to do the same.” Thorin sighs as they come to a stop at Bofur’s door. “However that will not work this time. You two can go,” he dismisses Alo and Ruka, who nod quickly and turn to walk back the way they came. “Dwalin…”

“I’d best stay out here, I think. You can handle this.” His old friend’s face softens in sympathy for only a brief moment. “It will be fine.”

“Thank you.” Thorin says and then he knocks on the miner’s door.

It is an embarrassing few seconds where Thorin waits in the hallway for an answer. Luckily it’s the middle of the morning and most people who live in this wing of Erebor are busy at work, either in the mines or at home or selling wares in the market, so nobody even walks past to catch their king waiting to be allowed in like any other Dwarf.

“Perhaps I should have sent somebody to check-”

He stops talking when the door opens and Bofur’s familiar face appears behind it, grinning widely as he is wont to do. He isn’t wearing his hat and Thorin has to take a second to get used to the unfamiliar sight.

At the sight of Thorin the big smile slips to slide from his lips, but at least he doesn’t do anything worse. Like slam the door in his face.

“Your Majesty.”

There’s no respect in the honorific and Dwalin’s lips twist into a fierce scowl but Thorin doesn’t show any outward sign of noticing it.

“Can I help you?” His eyes slant past Thorin to see Dwalin standing over his shoulder, and though Thorin knows he and Dwalin have never been close, he’s surprised by the grimness that settles over Bofur at the sight of the other Dwarf. “Dwalin.”

His nod is short and perfunctory and Dwalin returns it in similar fashion. “Bofur.”

Thorin sighs, already feeling the tension ratchet up between the three of them. When he speaks he sounds tired and makes no effort to conceal it. “May I come in?”

“If you like.” The miner sounds stiff, but he steps aside and Thorin enters the room.

The sitting room is full of red tones and comfortable furniture and Thorin suspects most of it is at least second-hand. Pictures cover the walls and there are at least 20 figurines throughout the room that he knows is Bifur’s work. Off through an open doorway is the kitchen, and down a hallway is a bathroom, one spare bedroom and the master room. Thorin has never stayed in any living quarters this low in Erebor but he knows the layout for most of them are the same.

The fire isn’t going but the room if warm nonetheless. A knitted blanket hangs over the back of the armchair Thorin settles in and Bofur scowls a bit before his face turns resigned.

“Would you like any tea? Or something else to drink? Think I have a few biscuits somewhere too.”

“No, thank you.” Thorin says, slightly taken aback. “Though I appreciate the offer.”

“Bombur and Bilbo both would kill me if they knew I didn’t make at least that much effort.”

Bofur sighs and finally walks around the couch to sit on its center, keeping a decent amount of distance between them but not so much that conversation will be uncomfortable. As Thorin watches him he sees the other Dwarf reach up as if to grab his hat and when he finds nothing there his fingers clench on empty air and fall in his lap to fidget aimlessly.

At least he isn’t the only one who’s nervous, Thorin thinks to himself.

“Bofur.” He hopes the Dwarf doesn’t mind Thorin doing away with formalities, but he finds he can’t be bothered to keep them up at the moment, and the -Ur brothers have always been some of the more sincere of their Company. Growing up without any titles made them less concerned with propriety and all of that nonsense Thorin had been raised with. “I’ve come to apologize to you.”

“Apologize?” He can tell from the way Bofur freezes that he’s been caught off guard.

“Yes. My words to you when you came to me all those years ago after Bilbo left were unfair; and though it is perhaps too late I would ask your forgiveness.” The words are hard to get out, but as Thorin has spent this past week swallowing his pride, he finds the sentence easier to say that he otherwise would have.

Bofur’s brown eyes are heavy on his and his expression hasn’t changed. Thorin is finding him frustratingly hard to read, which is novel, because he had always thought Bofur far too expressive and free with his emotions in the past.

Seconds tick by and Thorin clears his throat uncomfortably, feeling more awkward than he would like. He takes in the room again, eyes catching on the figurine of Beorn sitting on a shelf of displayed gem stones that he guesses have been mined by Bofur himself. The figurine is a good rendering, accurate to the minutest detail from what Thorin can see at this distance.

Which is admittedly not much. His eyesight has never been great compared to the others, a fact which Kíli and Fíli used to tease him about endlessly.

“Is that what you think I’ve been upset about all this time?” Bofur asks finally. “That you lost your temper and said some things about me that I knew you didn’t mean?” He scoffs slightly. “Please, I travelled over a year with you, Your Majesty. I’ve grown well used to your attitude when you’re uncomfortable, ashamed or embarrassed. The fact that you were all three when I came to your office didn’t escape my notice.”

Thorin frowns and shifts in his seat, his discomfort increasing. Though he likes and respect Bofur, despite the coldness between them these past years, he isn’t sure how he feels about his bluntness in matters like this. For someone as closed off and private as Thorin thought himself to be, this is about his worst nightmare.

But he isn’t surprised. As he’d said, he knows Bofur was more open with his emotions than most. It is why he and Bilbo get along so well, Thorin supposes.

“No.” He finally answers quietly. “I know why you were upset, and you’ve been right to hold me accountable.” He hesitates only for a moment before deciding to say what he was thinking. “To tell you the truth, I only respect you more for it.”

This time surprise does flit across Bofur’s face but it’s there and gone quickly. “I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugs and he knows if Balin saw him the old Dwarf would frown in chastisement. The amount of propriety lessons Thorin, Dís and Frerin had been forced to sit through as children, telling them not to shrug, or lift their eyebrows, or anything of the kind, was excruciating to think back on.

“Believe what you like. I have no reason to lie.”

“No?” Bofur tilts his head forward, eyes intent. “So you haven’t come here to try and make things right between us and get me to promise I won’t get in the middle of whatever you’re planning with Bilbo?”

Thorin chokes. “What?”

For the first time since allowing Thorin in Bofur cracks a smile. “I knew that must be it.”

“How?” He asks in complete bewilderment.

Bofur looks at him in exasperation. “You two aren’t fooling me. Both of you are just as bad as you were five years ago, and I knew what was going on back then too.”

Thorin hopes the sudden warmth on his cheeks is hidden under his stubble, though he suspects something gives him away from the way Bofur’s posture relaxes a bit more.

“You said that. Before. You told me that Bilbo had… confided in you.”

“Aye, he did.” Bofur’s lips purse before he adds, “still does.”

“I’m glad.” Thorin says in a rare moment of openness. “Truly. I’ve been grateful that you chose to be Bilbo’s friend and did what the rest of us were too foolish to for a long time. He’s needed someone like you.”

“Oh, he pays me back in kind, don’t think he doesn’t.” Bofur’s whole countenance has softened though. “But aye, I’m glad I’ve been some help to him. He’s kinder than any of us deserve you know.” The last sentence is said with a pointed look.

“I do.” Thorin replies softly. “And you’re right. About why I’ve come. I wish to court him again, Bofur.”

Immediately whatever warmth had appeared in the other Dwarf disappears. “Do you now?”

It’s a question but said so flatly it may as well not be. Thorin can practically feel the unhappiness radiating from his old friend and it makes him clench his fists tightly. They’re sweating slightly from nerves.

“Yes, I do.” Thorin reiterates. “And this time I will not be foolish enough to treat him with anything less than the respect he deserves.”

He pauses for a long time again but Bofur waits until he can force himself to calmly say the words. “I love him.”

Something in Bofur’s expression cracks and Thorin is stunned to find sympathy beneath the veneer of wariness. “Aye, I know you do.”

Now Thorin is the one who is speechless.

“But that doesn’t mean I think you two should be together.”

Thorin bows his head and swallows. “Whatever your grievances are against me I would hear them so I can address them as best I can.”

Bofur coughs slightly. “Well I’m not sure about this grievance business, but there’s more than one thing I’m angry with you about, that’s for sure. But first, I know Bilbo has forgiven you for whatever happened between the two of you in the past and that’s fine. I don’t know much about it and he doesn’t seem eager to tell anybody, so I’ll respect that. But I know you lied to him. I know you hurt him. What says you won’t do it again?”

Thorin swallows. “The truth is I was told I couldn’t be with Bilbo without endangering the monarchy and Erebor. If I had married him as I wished an advisor told me not only would Kíli and Tauriel be shunned and threatened, but Bilbo as well.” He licks his lips. “To my eternal regret I chose their safety over Bilbo’s happiness and my own.”

“Oh.” Bofur sounds very small and silence stretches. “Well then. That does make some difference I suppose.”

Thorin looks at him curiously. “Had you supposed I sent him away for nothing?”

“To be honest I hadn’t the faintest clue.” Bofur admits. “There were times I wouldn’t have put it past you and then others when it was obvious you were so miserable even my heart ached for you.” His eyes search Thorin’s before he adds a bit kinder, “I heard about the garden.”

Thorin’s heart seizes. “You haven’t told Bilbo, have you?”

“No.” Bofur’s eyebrows furrow. “Is it a secret?”

“I- for now.” It shouldn’t be, Thorin knows. But that is still too much to share. If Bilbo rejects him after seeing the orchard then the last shreds of Thorin’s hopes will be gone. He says another truth, one that he’s more comfortable sharing. “I don’t want him to feel pressured.”

“Ah.” Bofur’s expression clears. “Well I doubt he could be, you know Bilbo. But if that’s what you want then I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.”

Bofur nods absently. “You really thought you had to choose between Bilbo and all of Erebor?”

Thorin nods shortly.

“Has that changed now?”

He hesitates. “I have been told it has.” He says slowly. “But even if the newest report is wrong, I no longer care. I will handle whatever happens as best I can, but I can no longer being apart from Bilbo.” And Thorin admits to Bofur what he has only ever admitted to a few others. “He’s my One.”

“No,” Bofur’s denial is a shocked whisper and falls from his mouth in an instant. He clears his throat, taking in Thorin, but even then he still shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not.”

“You wouldn’t have sent him away… you _couldn’t_ have…”

Thorin grit his teeth. “I did.”

This more than anything has rattled Bofur, and Thorin can see it in the way the miner stares at him, eyes wide, frozen in place and trying to process the full implications. As he watches he sees a new thought strike him, one shocking enough it makes his mouth fall open.

“Bilbo never knew.”

It’s not what Thorin was expecting. He looks away. “No. I never told him.”

“Will you tell him now?”

Thorin shakes his head before Bofur even finishes asking. If Bilbo had refused to hear his declaration of love then he no doubt doesn’t want to hear that Thorin will never love any other for the rest of his life.

“No. Not yet at least. As I said, I don’t want him to feel pressured.”

“But that’s…” Bofur trails off helplessly before finishing lamely. “That’s different.”

“To us perhaps,” Thorin says gravely. “But Bilbo told me Hobbits aren’t the same. They can love more than once.”

“There’s no certainty of that though.” Bofur points out. “No matter what race you are, love is rare, Thorin.”

“Even so, if the idea can be overwhelming to Dwarves, imagine what he must think.” Thorin swallows. “If he accepts me again Bofur I will have it be because it’s what he wants. I don’t want anything else to interfere with his decision.”

Bofur looks understanding. “Which is why you don’t want me to say anything against you.”

Thorin meets his eyes helplessly. “If I cannot have your forgiveness then yes, I would ask you to step back and allow Bilbo to make up his own mind. I know I have treated you badly and I am sorry for it, truly. And not only for Bilbo’s sake.”

His old friend hesitates. “I won’t lie to him.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Thorin replies instantly. “I’ve told him I regret my actions towards you and the distance that has been between us already, and I think he believed me.”

“He did ask me to go a little easier on you.” Bofur grumbles. “At the time I wasn’t inclined to agree though now that I know a bit of your reasons…”

Guilt flares in Thorin quickly before he quashes it.

“Promise me this,” Bofur leans forward intently, eyes holding his. Thorin mirrors his posture without thinking. “That Bilbo now knows the complete truth and you won’t hurt him like that ever again.”

“You have my word.”

Bofur nods in acceptance and moves back.

“I don’t think it’s right, what you did, but at least now I understand.” His eyes soften. “And you aren’t the only one who should apologize. All these years I’ve been acting like this for Bilbo because I didn’t see anybody else that was. But I always thought of myself as your friend too, despite our differences in rank and all.” He waves a hand, brushing the unspoken differences between them aside. “I regret that I couldn’t be a friend for you all these years, Thorin. Especially when I saw how badly you needed one.” His lips press together for a moment. “Maybe I should have pressed you more for answers all those years ago.”

“I do not think I would have been any more forthcoming.” Thorin admits but he’s warmed immediately by the words, and gratitude and appreciation well up in him for the other Dwarf. “But thank you, Bofur. I appreciate that very much.”

The miner shrugs and Thorin waits, knowing whatever Bofur says next will be the answer he came for.

“I won’t turn Bilbo away if he comes to me wanting to speak of any of this,” he finally says. “Even if it’s about you and your proposal to court him. But I won’t be saying anything against you that’s unfair. In fact, I doubt I’ll say anything against you at all unless you mess up again in the next month.” A look of distress washes over him. “Please don’t.”

Thorin ignores the small burst of trepidation he feels at the words. “I will do my best not to.”

“That’s all any of us can do, I suppose.” He agrees easily and meets Thorin’s gaze again. “I know now that you care about him. That’s all I ever really needed to see.”

“Thank you.” Thorin rasps and Bofur shrugs kindly.

“I’m not doing this to get back in your good graces,” he warns. “But because I really think the two of you will be happier together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Thorin replies standing up. The conversation is drawing to a close and he thinks they’ve almost said all they need to. “Though I do hope this means we’re friends again? Or can try to be once more?”

The second Bofur takes to answer makes Thorin impatient from suspense and he smiles in relief when the miner grins as he stands too. “’Course it does.”

It’s a loaded moment when Thorin holds his arm out, and though shock passes over Bofur quickly, he still reaches out to clasp it back tightly in return. When Thorin moves to knock their foreheads together Bofur responds in kind.

“Thank you, Bofur.” He repeats. “I’ve missed your company.”

“And I yours.” His grin turns teasing as their hands fall back to their sides. “Have to admit I’ve missed being friends with the king.”

“Is that all I’m good for these days?” Thorin asks, beginning to make his way to the door but they’re both speaking in jest now.

“It doesn’t hurt, that’s for certain.”

“Well at least you’re honest.” Thorin agrees and turns before opening the door to leave.

His words make Bofur turn serious again. “You’re right, I am. I always will be, even if it isn’t what you want to hear.”

Thorin allows the jokes to fall away as well.

“Yes, I know. It’s something I’ve missed.” He sighs. “The others are honest with me too of course. Particularly Nori.” He wrinkles his nose. “But you always did have a certain way of being kind about it when you could.”

“Better to be that than anything else.” Bofur agrees. “And if I’m being honest, I’ve missed your company too. You’re a bit stoic, it’s true, but that’s not always a bad thing.”

“Careful, such kind words might go to my head.”

Thorin’s sarcasm is met with laughter. “Ah, well, I’m sure you have enough nobles kissing up to you.”

“That’s true,” he agrees morosely. “Without my family and the Company who knows what I would be like.”

“Insufferable no doubt.” Bofur says and Thorin silently thinks he’s probably right. “Tell me, who else do you have to pester into behaving maturely about you courting Bilbo? Or was I the last?”

“Oh no, there’s a few more.” Thorin sighs. “We’ll see if I’m half as successful with them all.”

“Well good luck,” Bofur says warmly. “I can always try and talk them ‘round if you need.”

“Though I appreciate the offer I think this is something I should do myself. It is a result of my own mistakes after all.” Thorin says regretfully. “Will I see you later at dinner?”

“Yes, I think so.” Bofur grins. “Been a while since I ate with you all.”

“Mmm.” Thorin agrees. “Your absence has been noticed.”

“Well that’s always nice to hear.” Bofur says warmly. “Good luck now.”

“Thank you.” Thorin says for a final time, words loaded with meaning. “Until later.”

“See you then.” Bofur opens the door for him and this time when Dwalin’s gaze lands on them, assessing both for injury and looking satisfied at finding none, Bofur smiles at the guard. “Take care, the both of you.”

“And you.” Thorin claps him on the arm which makes Dwalin’s scowl abate immediately. “Alright Dwalin, on we go.”

“Bofur,” Dwalin grunts in goodbye before falling into step beside Thorin. He hears the door close. “So that went well?”

“It did.” Thorin replied. “And was much overdue.”

They walk a little while more, voices carrying to their ears from some distant hallway but not coming any closer. The only sound Thorin truly takes notice of is their footsteps on the stone.

“I’m glad.” Dwalin says finally. “Things are getting back to how they used to, aren’t they?”

“If I have anything to say about it they will be.” Thorin agrees and the two of them continue on.

* * *

Choosing to continue and take advantage of his string of good luck, the next person he decides to try and convince is Gandalf.

The Wizard looks surprised, when he finally comes into Thorin’s sitting room after being tracked down by a runner, but not hostile. Thorin tries to remind himself that Gandalf had only warned him against hurting Bilbo again and hadn’t outright said he would try to stop a courtship from happening, but he finds his persuasion only goes so far.

Once Gandalf is settled and Caan has brought them both tea, Thorin finally leans forward in his armchair to make his request.

“Will you help me?”

Gandalf takes a slow drink before setting the cup and saucer aside to lean forward in his own chair as well. Several feet separate them, but the air suddenly feels heavy and on the verge of suffocation for the Dwarf.

“I had heard you refused all help in this matter.”

Thorin’s lips thin from irritation. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms and tries not to huff like he knows both Fíli and Kíli do when he tells them no. “Will you at least not stand in my way and let me get on with it? I wish to court Bilbo as he deserves Gandalf, and that means no pestering from the Company to accept me… or from you to refuse me.”

Gandalf only looks amused and Thorin tries not to be insulted. This is a powerful immortal Wizard after all, and both of them knows which of the two of them is more threatening. Not that Thorin likes it.

“I do not think it would be unreasonable for me to try and persuade him to say no after all you have done.”

“I did what seemed best.”

“He was madly in love with you, Thorin, I don’t know what you expected.”

Thorin is in no mood to rehash these events again. He has acknowledged his mistakes for what they are and will live with the regret for the rest of his life. Nothing Gandalf can do or say will change that.

“I thought with distance… I thought it would solve that problem.”

Gandalf raises his eyebrows at him and takes another sip. “Distance creates more problems than it solves. In truth it does not solve many, only halts them in their tracks. If you did not wish to prolong your own agony you should have written to him.”

Thorin swallows. “I did not wish to give him false hope.”

“No, you only gave the two of you misery of the acutest kind.”

He gets up to pace. “Do not patronize me Gandalf. Hindsight and the position of being an outsider gives you wisdom in this matter that I could not have had.”

“I have no scruples in saying you did not seem to have any wisdom in this matter at all. Who made this tea by the way, it is very good. I should like to compliment them.”

“Enough.” The growl is a warning and a plea and Thorin chooses to believe the Wizard only hears the former while knowing that is not at all the case. “I have heard every reproach possible from myself alone. Anything you could say will not be news to me and cannot possibly be worse. If you have no advice then I will seek out somebody who does.”

“Oh Thorin, come now. Don’t be so quick to anger.” The Wizard is shaking his head. “That temper of yours is dangerous.”

That does make Thorin stop moving and he feels the fight leave him. “Yes, I know it.”

“It is because of that temper that I do not know if you courting Bilbo is a good idea.” Gandalf holds up a hand to stop him from speaking. “For you, yes. Undoubtedly Bilbo can only be a good influence. But you have hurt him many times. I take the happiness of my friends very seriously Thorin Oakenshield, and if you are to hurt him again it will not only be his anger you are subject to.”

“Hurting him is the last thing I want.”

“But that has always been the case, has it not? You are a tragic figure, King Under the Mountain, and they will sing songs and tell tales of you for the rest of time. But that tragedy is the very reason you cannot help but hurt those around you.”

“Not Bilbo, Gandalf.’’ This time he is unashamedly begging, desperate for the Wizard to understand. “Never again him.”

Grey eyes study him closely and not for the first time Thorin is reminded just how old Gandalf really is. These are eyes that have see all of history, a being who has watched kings just like Thorin rise and fall in equal glory. Gandalf has seen countless wars and lost more people than Thorin has likely ever known, and yet he is here, in the middle of Thorin’s own mess of a romantic life.

A threat from Gandalf for Bilbo’s happiness is no light thing.

“I will swear it, if you need me to.” He says gravely. “Not because you have threatened me if I ever hurt Bilbo again, but because I could not bear it if I did. I have already made the oath to myself. And you forget I think,” the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly, “that Bilbo has far more sway over me than I could ever hope to have on him. And if I ever do make any mistakes in the future he is more than capable of making me pay for them himself.”

“Oh I don’t forget that in the slightest my friend.” Gandalf’s eyes twinkle. “And do you know, I think you’re right. We’ll have no problems. I told you when I first arrived that I am not the one you must ask for forgiveness or permission.” His grin turns slightly sharp. “As long as you don’t forget it either.”

“I assure you I will not.”

“Well good, that’s good.” The Grey Wizard leans back and Thorin eventually moves to resettle in his own chair. “And as for advice…”

He leans forward again eagerly.

Gandalf smiles mischievously. “I think I will leave it up to you. From what I have already heard and seen you’re doing a marvelous job.”

Thorin’s growl serves for nothing better than making Gandalf laugh, and he is only thankful that the Wizard does not stay long after he finishes his drink and eats a few cookies.

There is one more person he thinks he needs to visit before finally going to Bilbo and it is by far the most intimidating.

* * *

When his sister opens the door to her chambers she looks unamused.

“I’m on my way to lunch.” She says. “So this better be quick.”

“It will be, I think.”

He brushes past her and is then subject to her loud sigh of annoyance and forced to follow her back to her bedroom where she begins putting a few things away before he can tell her why he has come. “I’ve come to tell you that I’m going to court Bilbo again. If he accepts it.”

She stops in front of her open wardrobe, back to him. Thorin stands there nervously.

“I’m hoping to speak with him after I leave here actually.”

“Interrupting him at his lunch? You should know better than that, Thorin.” Her voice shakes though and when she finally hangs the dress up in the wardrobe and turns around, her eyes are shining. “You really mean to do this then?”

He cannot tell from her expression or tone whether she approves or not. She is unusually neutral, or doing a good job of pretending to be, and that makes him nervous as he goes to sit on top of the chest at the foot of her bed.

“Dís all I hope is that you allow Bilbo to make up his own mind on the subject. I am only asking you to be impartial, as you should be anyway.”

“You are my _brother_.” Dís replies. “And after all you have told me… I like Bilbo, Thorin, more than I ever thought I would. I know you won’t hurt him on purpose, but the two of you are so damned stubborn I worry that you’ll both end up hurting each other accidently.”

“I will not hurt him.” Thorin vows. “And if he refuses me or anything of the kind then I can handle it Dís. I am not a Dwarfling.”

“You’re as bad as.” She says knowingly but her expression is softening. “Oh, _nadad_ , I want you to be happy more than almost anything else in the world. But you are your own worst enemy when it comes to giving yourself that joy. I refuse to watch you suffer. Not if I can help it.”

“You cannot interfere Dís.”

“I wouldn’t call it interfering.” Her smile is bright and guileless and completely full of trouble if Thorin’s past knowledge is anything to go by. “Only me undertaking my duty as your sister to make sure you and Bilbo end up together without any more broken hearts. I’m more than happy with you courting him, Thorin, but I will not just stand at the side and watch if I see it going wrong.”

Thorin sighs tiredly. He suspects he is beginning to sound as weary as his father had been back in life. Honestly his sister was as bad as her children sometimes. Whenever anybody asked whether it was Víli or Dís they took after, Thorin had never needed to stop and think before answering Dís, with no hesitation.

“That would be interfering Dís.”

“Doing my duty.” She stresses as she moved around, seemingly picking things up at random and placing them on her bed. A couple of hair beads, a comb, a family portrait. Thorin chooses wisely and doesn’t ask. “Don’t worry, brother, I’m not the ones you should be concerned with. My boys are likely to prove more meddlesome than I will. At least I have tact.”

“I’m not so sure about that somehow,” Thorin groans as he stands up. “And yet I can’t deny they won’t be able to keep out of this no matter what orders I give. Can’t you speak with them?”

“You act as if I haven’t already. Believe me, I know a lost cause when I see one.” She hums a bit. “It doesn’t help that your entire Company of Dwarves has promised to do all they can to make this courtship a bit less painful than your attempts so far.” He tries to look innocent when she raises an eyebrow. “Do I even want to ask?”

“No.” He mutters, sulking over the fact that apparently everyone he knows has taken it upon themselves to involve themselves in his relationship with Bilbo when he has expressly told each and every one of them not to. Honestly, are the orders of a king so easily swept aside?

“Thought not.” She says. “Now shoo. Go and woo your Hobbit, I have work to do.”

He cast one last doubtful look towards the things on her bed, remembering her comment about going to lunch, but moves towards her anyway to knock their foreheads together. “As you wish. Thank you, sister.”

“Don’t go getting soft on me now,” she says but there is warmth in her eyes. “And if you see my troublesome boys would you send them my way? I have things I need to speak with them about.”

“If I see them,” he replies. “Please remind them that my courtship with Bilbo is private. You’re bad enough, but at least I know you’ll at least try and be subtle. I’m not so sure about the others.”

“I make no promises.”

Barely restraining himself from throwing his hands up in exasperation, Thorin only nods, knowing to argue further would be pointless. “Very well.”

“See you later, brother dear!” She calls after him, and he stomps away, thoughts racing not only with plans on seeing and winning Bilbo’s love again, but with going to any length necessary to make it clear that the members of the Company and those closest to them both are to stay out of it.

Honestly Thorin doesn’t know which of the two ventures have a greater chance of success, and if that isn’t depressing he isn’t sure what is.

* * *

Bilbo is not easy to find and by the time Thorin finally tracks him down the Hobbit is finished his lunch and walking out of Tauriel’s rooms with her.

“-and I- oh.” The two of them pull up short at the sight of Thorin coming down the hallway, Dwalin dutifully following behind, as Bilbo stops speaking.

He looks good, Thorin thinks. His cheeks are flushed and his clothes- a dark green waistcoat over a light crème shirt and slightly faded brown trousers that stop mid-calf- fit him well. Though the presence of the waistcoat hints at an excursion out of doors, and when Thorin glances at Tauriel and sees her bow, it confirms his unasked question.

“There you are.” He says in relief, wondering what they are up to. Tauriel’s bow would usually have implied hunting, but Bilbo had never taken to the activity.

Both of them look at him strangely and Thorin immediately bites his tongue. He can’t see Dwalin’s face behind him, but he strongly suspects that he is holding back a sigh.

“Erm, who?” Bilbo sounds hesitant.

“You. Both of you. Um.” Thorin shakes his head, one of his braids hitting the side of his head. “It’s good to see you.”

Bilbo is looking at him funny but thankfully Tauriel saves Thorin further embarrassment. “Good to see you too, sire.”

“Tauriel, how many times-”

“Thorin.” She smiles warmly, already knowing what he is about to say. Then her brown eyes look to his right. “And hello to you too Dwalin. Have you come for some more fighting tips?”

Thorin snaps his eyes away from Bilbo to laugh at the challenge and the look of insult that flashes across Dwalin’s face.

“Tips? As if I didn’t beat you eight times out of ten!”

“Eight is a funny way of saying three.” Tauriel throws back, eyes dancing. She and Dwalin move towards one another, trading taunts back and forth and leaving Thorin little choice but to look back at Bilbo who is watching them with amusement.

He takes a few steps towards the Hobbit and when Bilbo glances over to smile up at him his heart flutters.

“Are they always like this?”

“Oh yes.” Thorin watches them in resignation. “It might be slightly worse than usual, since I don’t think they’ve had a chance to spar in the past week.”

Bilbo hums. “And which of them is really better?”

Thorin shrugs. “Depends on the day, really. And the weapon. Tauriel is far better with the bow and hand-to-hand combat. Dwalin excels with swords and axes.” Which remineds him. “What are we holding the two of you back from? Hunting?”

Bilbo’s laugh is light and he shakes his head. “Not at all. Tauriel wanted some target practice.” Bilbo confides in him as the two warriors speak to one another. “I said I would tag along to get some fresh air.”

“Ah.” Thorin says, thinking quickly before deciding to try his luck. “Would you mind if I came too?”

“Really?” The beginning of a smile teases at Bilbo’s face before the Hobbit frowns. “You’re not busy?”

“No,” Thorin decides, making a mental note to handle any shunned duties later. “And it’s been a while since I was out of the mountain.”

It isn’t necessarily a lie, Thorin thinks. The orchard might technically be outside, but it is on the mountainside and shielded from one direction.

“I would love it if you joined us.” Bilbo says. “Though perhaps you should ask Tauriel since this outing was her idea.”

“She won’t mind,” Thorin says confidently. “Will you Tauriel?”

“What’s that?” She turns seamlessly from talking to Dwalin, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Would you object to Dwalin and I coming with you and Bilbo?”

“Ah.” Her face lights up. “Not at all. That gives me a sparring partner too if I get bored of shooting. What do you say, Dwalin?”

“Do I have a choice?” The other Dwarf grunts but the three of them know his annoyance is just an act. “Shall we get on then?”

“Yes.” Thorin says, glancing at Bilbo who shoots him another smile. “Walk with me?”

“Alright,” Bilbo agrees easily.

He is silent as he walks through the hallways, not even his footsteps making a sound, and Thorin is keenly aware of the noise his own boots make scuffing along the chiseled stone. Tauriel hangs back to walk with Dwalin and continue their conversation.

“Does Dwalin really need to be with you everywhere you go?” Bilbo asks curiously after a few moments. Thorin is too busy focusing on the fact that their arms brush every few seconds to think of anything else, and so Bilbo’s question takes him a moment to parse.

“Not really.” Thorin’s mouth twists in amusement. “He’s my head guard and so really should be using his time to inspect patrols, outline routes and take stock of the general state of the mountain’s defenses. But Dwalin, being the nannying old Dwarf that he is, has taken it upon himself to do all of his duties on top of shadowing me around Erebor.”

Bilbo shoots him a slight look of chastisement though Thorin sees he finds some amusement from it too. “You know why he does.”

“Yes,” the king allows. “But I am perfectly safe in Erebor and almost never alone. Even when I am, it’s not as if I’m defenseless. Any other monarch would not have such stringent security in their own home.”

He smiles a bit though and glances at the pair behind them, noticing that Tauriel is grinning in amusement, obviously having heard his conversation with Bilbo while still listening to what Dwalin is saying to her.

The Dwarf in question is oblivious ,which is probably for the best. An embarrassed Dwalin is not something Thorin feels fortified to handle at the moment.

“You could ask him to stop if it bothers you.”

Thorin shakes his head. “It doesn’t bother me.”

It would have once, he knows. But since reclaiming Erebor Thorin has been so lonely that having Dwalin around as often as he has been has turned out to be something of an inadvertent blessing. It at least gives Thorin someone to talk to whenever he wants, though that is admittedly rare. More than that, Dwalin is one of the few people he feels comfortable around, and though there are times when Thorin wishes for some privacy, Dwalin has always respected those wishes.

Dwalin is his oldest friend, and though Thorin is not the best at showing it, he cares about him very much. His presence has been one of the biggest things to ease the loneliness of his years without Bilbo.

“Oh.” Bilbo’s voice is laden with realization and makes Thorin glance down curiously. “I see. That’s sweet Thorin.”

He splutters. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t pretend.” Bilbo looks at him knowingly. “I know you too well to be fooled.”

“Is that so?”

“It is actually.” His look turns teasing. “Well enough to know you’re really much nicer than you let on.”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

“Don’t you?” Bilbo’s eyes glint before he seems to realize just what he is saying and his face immediately turns a slight shade of pink as he quickly looks away. “Um.”

Thorin takes pity on him, glad that he is in a position to do so rather than the other way around. “Don’t worry, Master Baggins, I won’t have you thrown in the stocks for such slander.”

He had hoped that would return the smile to Bilbo’s face, or even a laugh, and so he is disappointed when in fact it seems to only make Bilbo frown further.

It is just as Bilbo looks back at him and is opening his mouth, a question evident on his face, when Tauriel steps up beside them. “I thought this would be a good place to go. It’s quiet and almost always deserted whenever Kíli and I visit.”

With a blink Thorin realizes they are at a lower eastern door. Bilbo seems startled as well, and whatever his question had been disappears as he hurriedly snaps his mouth shut.

“Sounds good.” Dwalin grunts before pushing forward to shove the door open and let in a whoosh of warm summer air.

Immediately the sound of falling water and bird song hits them, and it is only because Thorin is already looking over at Bilbo that he sees the immediate look of pleasure sweep across his features.

“Have you not been outside since you arrived?” Thorin asks.

“I went to Dale for a day,” Bilbo murmurs as they follow Tauriel down a mountain path onto the grassy slope.

It is the only part of the mountainside with any naturally growing plant life, and so there are small bushes and thin trees here and there over the mostly grass covered expanse leading down to the ground. Thorin does not even think it would be good for hunting, but he does see several targets set up a fair distance away and knows that is where Tauriel and Dwalin are headed.

“It went well you said. Your visit.”

“It did.” Bilbo smiles. “It was nice to have more time to catch up with Bard. And the city has changed so much in the years since I was last there, I was very impressed.”

“Yes, Bard was eager to have you I’m sure.” Thorin replies, remembering the man’s well-known fond regard for Bilbo. He makes an effort to turn his thoughts from jealousy. “I am glad you had a good time.”

“Me too.” Bilbo smiles at him and then looks back towards Tauriel and Dwalin who have quickened their pace and are slowly getting farther away from them.

“Did you want to watch them?” Thorin asks.

Bilbo looked at him in consideration before shaking his head. “Actually, now that Tauriel has Dwalin for company would you mind us just sitting here? I only wanted to come outside for a bit.”

Thorin smiles at the answer. “Alright. Here?”

“It seems as good a place as any.”

“I agree.” Thorin says and he follows Bilbo’s lead and unclasps Orcrist from his waist to sit on the green ground.

“That’s just lovely, isn’t it?” Bilbo asks, soaking in the sun and Thorin looks over only to be arrested by the sight.

“It is.”

A few minutes pass in silence where Bilbo just happily hums with his eyes closed and they listen to the sounds of the outside world around them. Thorin allows his eyes to take in their fill, reveling in the opportunity to look without being caught.

“What have you been up to lately?”

Bilbo’s head is tilted back as he rests on his elbows, and it’s unfair, Thorin thinks, that anyone could expect him to see such a sight as that and not be struck dumb from it. The sunlight is strong and warm and falling upon the Hobbit easily, making every golden-hued strand of hair apparent in the otherwise brown locks. His eyes are closed, and cheeks red from warmth or happiness, and the top button of his shirt is undone.

“Thorin?”

“I’m sorry what?” He looks up from Bilbo’s hands- lightly gripping the grass beneath them- to meet his eyes, which are alight with something far too knowing.

“Silly Dwarf,” Bilbo mutters fondly, more to himself than anything, but Thorin catches the whisper all the same. “I was wondering where you’ve been these past couple of days. I’ve barely seen you.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I know you’re king and very busy, but I admit I’ve missed you being around. It’s strange to be back with everybody else but having you absent.”

Well, if there was ever an invitation then this is undoubtedly it. Mahal could not have been more clear if he’d spelled out _ask him now you fool_ in the clouds.

“Actually,” he hedges, watching as Bilbo’s head lolls his way once more to watch him lazily, making him swallow. “I’ve been thinking and…”

Bilbo’s lips twitch as he waits. “Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Thorin repeats. “That is I’ve been- with everything…”

Thorin watches Bilbo wait as he swallows again, trying to get some moisture into his suddenly dry throat. Had this been so hard last time?

“You’re nervous.” Bilbo says. “Why are you nervous? Surely I’m not that scary.”

He appreciates the attempt at humor and makes himself smile a bit back, forcing his shoulders to relax and his lungs to breathe deeply. “I’m not so sure I would agree.”

“If I had known how hard of a question it would be I don’t think I would have braved asking it.”

Thorin licks his lips, finally feeling as if he has himself under control. Bilbo is being very kind, trying to lighten the mood, but evidently he sees something in Thorin’s expression because his own turns serious quite quickly.

“Since you’ve come back I think we’ve done an admirable job of trying to put our past behind us.”

Thorin begins and he sees the way Bilbo immediately freezes, the sudden sharpening of his eyes and how now it is Bilbo struggling to stay unaffected.

“And I have enjoyed every moment the two of us have been able to spend together. In fact, I’ve treasured them enormously, though you might find it hard to believe.” He holds Bilbo’s eyes, glad that the Hobbit hasn’t tried to look away. “If you still feel that us being friends is what you want then tell me and I will never again ask for more.”

He waits, heart in his throat and Bilbo does nothing but look back at him, dawning comprehension in his face. And as Thorin waits he realizes that Bilbo isn’t stopping him like the night he came back to Erebor. He isn’t laughing away and ignoring any slips where Thorin reveals the true depth of his feelings. Instead he’s waiting, perhaps not eager, but at least willing to listen.

Thorin wastes no time in rushing on. “But I have also realized that I don’t want to forget our history or ignore it. In fact, I find it more important than ever because my feelings for you have not gone away.” He sees Bilbo’s breath catch. “If anything they’ve only grown, though I had not thought it possible.”

Again he waits a moment, just to see if Bilbo will stop him now that his meaning must be abundantly clear, but the Hobbit is moving to sit up cross-legged and leaning forwards slightly as if needing to catch every sight and sound.

Thorin continues, leaning forward a bit as well, their eyes locked on one another. “I have learned from my mistakes and will do anything you ask to prove it to you. To begin I would like to formally ask you if I may court you once again.”

And there it is, the proposal hanging between them like an old blade, ready to cut or strengthen them depending on how Bilbo chooses to wield it. The Hobbit’s eyes widen, and he sits up straight again, causing Thorin to remember himself and do the same.

It is a long time before he speaks, and in that time Thorin doesn’t move an inch. “Thorin I…”

He trails off helplessly, looking down at the grass and anxiously wrapping it around his fingers. 

Thorin takes pity on him.

“I will not fall to pieces, whatever your answer is.” He says gently, reaching forward to lightly touch Bilbo’s knee, making his head snap back up for their eyes to meet once more. Bilbo’s look incredibly conflicted. “You do not have to be gentle to spare my feelings.”

Bilbo smiles a bit. “It’s not that at all. If you must know I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what my answer is.”

“Oh.” Thorin blinks.

The sandy-haired head cocks to the side. “Can I think about it?”

“Yes.” He answers immediately without bothering to feign casualness. This is far better than the outright rejection he had begun to fear his answer would be. “Yes, of course. Take all the time you need.”

“It won’t be that long. I wouldn’t like to keep you waiting.” Bilbo says kindly.

“I do not mind waiting,” Thorin replies, though it is a lie and Bilbo likely knows it as well as he does, from the way he snorts in disbelief. So he amends it so he can be honest. “Truly. Not for this. Not for you.”

“Oh.”

Any humor leaves Bilbo immediately at that and the tension that had disappeared comes back even stronger. The look in those warm hazel eyes is far too adoring and the breathless whisper in which Bilbo speaks makes something in Thorin’s gut tighten. “Alright then.”

He smiles, because to do anything else would likely be more than even Bilbo is willing to handle right now. “I had forgotten how eloquent you were.”

“Oh hush.”

“For an author you surely know when to use your words and when to forget them completely.”

“Enough, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo threatens, pointing a finger at him in warning. “Shouldn’t you be fawning over me with compliments to try and win me once again?”

Thorin smiles brilliantly, feeling daring. “I thought instead you should be reminded of exactly what you’re getting.”

“As if I could forget,” Bilbo mutters but Thorin can see he is trying not to laugh.

“Mmm, I am quite unforgettable.” Thorin agrees.

“Well.” Bilbo says, embarrassed, and he blushes as bright red as any tomato he could grow in his garden.

“Well?”

“Just well. I’m not going to give you any more compliments if your ego is already that big.”

Thorin pouts mockingly and belatedly realizes absently that he is feeling something akin to giddy. This is far better than an outright rejection, this is, if anything, a sign of encouragement that he is not alone in his feelings. His feelings which are making themselves known, if the childish way he is behaving is any indication but funnily enough he can’t find it within himself to even want to stop.

“I wonder, Master Baggins, whether during our separation you-”

“Your Majesty?”

The timid voice makes both of them startle and Thorin stands immediately, grabbing his sheathed sword, hand on the pommel, despite the fact that anyone attacking likely wouldn’t have announced themselves first. When he sees Balin’s runner Zanni he lets his blade fall to the side, but his laughter is all but gone as he grows composed again.

Wasn’t Dwalin meant to be guarding him? Where in Mahal’s name had he and Tauriel got to? Now that Thorin thinks about it he had lost sight of them long ago, and when he glances over again it is to see them rolling in the dirt.

Ah, of course. He should have guessed.

“Yes?” He demands, voice a tad gruffer than it perhaps needs to be.

“Lord Balin needs you, sire.” Zanni’s eyes quickly dart to Bilbo, but within a second she is looking back to Thorin before he can grow irritated about it. “He says it’s important.”

He would sigh, but even that felt like too much effort. 

“I suppose that’s my cue then.” Thorin says regretfully, turning back to Bilbo. “You will think on what I asked?”

Bilbo’s unhappy expression is hidden in an instant and as he looks back up to Thorin he laughs. “I hardly think I can do anything else.”

He nods trying to ignore the feeling running through his veins. “Then I will bid you good evening, Master Baggins.”

Again Bilbo purses his lips but nods anyway. “I’m sure I’ll see you later. At dinner?”

“If this doesn’t take too long.” The look they share is knowing and then Thorin turns to follow the runner back into the mountain where the weight of being king resettles heavily on his shoulders.

* * *

He does not manage to make it to dinner, and though he dismisses Balin and the others, he stays in his office pondering the news of the latest crop reports from Bard.

It seems that most of their crops had fallen victim to some disease. It is not threatening, at least as long as they manage to contain it, but it does mean that Erebor will have to turn to other sources for some of their food supply over the winter.

A letter to Thranduil is in order it seems, though Bard has undoubtedly written to the Elfking already. Thorin finds himself reluctant to begin it.

He releases a sigh and rubs at his brow as he sits behind his desk, and then stays in that position for a few minutes to slowly gather his thoughts and organize himself. He is allowed a short rest, he thinks. He has a lot on his plate at the moment.

It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he’s not alone. When he looks up he can’t say he’s surprised at who is loitering at the door.

“Master Baggins.”

He is so close to slipping but manages to catch himself just in time. The easy repertoire between them from this afternoon is gone and now Thorin feels wrung out and tired. He cannot say why Bilbo’s sudden appearance doesn’t alarm him, and he absently wonders how the Hobbit made it past his guards without Thorin hearing their voices. Had he been so lost in his thoughts?

He pushes all of those questions aside. They are not important, at least not now. Thorin tries to tamper down his hopes of what could make Bilbo come to him so suddenly tonight.

“What can I do for you?”

Something pained crosses Bilbo’s face as Thorin greets him and he stands there hesitating, one hand still on the doorknob as if ready to turn it and flee in a moment. “That.”

Thorin’s hopes fall. “I beg your pardon?”

“Since I’ve come back I keep expecting you to stop, but you don’t seem to intend to. Which is absolutely ridiculous considering where we are in our relationship-”

Thorin is unable to help himself from interrupting, completely at a loss as to what Bilbo can mean. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a time when you called me by my name.” Bilbo is quiet, but his words are no less shocking for it, and Thorin would not know what to make of this statement if it weren’t for the soulful way the Hobbit looks at him from the doorway. “I would ask that you do so again.”

He does not look away, though his cowardice calls for him to. Something inside of him hurts. “You know the appearance that would give.”

Bilbo smiles a bit sadly. “We are far past appearances, are we not? Besides, we did journey together all those months. If that does not allow for familiarity,” he falters, perhaps remembering just how much familiarity had come from that quest, “then what would?”

“Perhaps you don’t see-” He bites his tongue to stop himself and watches Bilbo’s face fill with curiosity. “This is as good as giving me encouragement to court you again.”

This time it is a strange hybrid of hope laced with regret that fills Bilbo’s eyes as he holds Thorin’s gaze. He notes Bilbo’s grip tightening on the door, so much that his knuckles turn white, and he feels is own heartbeat pounding strongly away in his chest, desperate for whatever answer is to come.

“Then consider this me giving you that encouragement.”

Bilbo’s reply comes after a long time but that doesn’t mean Thorin’s breath doesn’t catch in surprise at the words, or stop the surge of hope that comes over him so strongly he momentarily feels nothing else.

His feelings must show because instantly the Hobbit becomes cautioning.

“I can’t say what my answer will be or predict what will happen in the future.” He warns. “But- but I can’t pretend there isn’t still something between us Thorin. And I won’t lie and hide that if we can make things work again… I would be happy for it.”

“Do you mean it?” The question comes out as a desperate plea and the air between them softens. Bilbo moves forward quickly and Thorin rises and circles his desk to meet him, reaching out to grasp the outstretched hand and hold it gently. “There is a chance? We are not finished?”

“We’ve never been finished, you and I.” Bilbo’s words are soft, his expression searching. When Thorin nods once in agreement the shorter being sighs. “So much time…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I am sorry that I can’t give you an answer right now.”

“Never apologize for that.” Thorin says lowly. “And please don’t feel pressured. I know you would never do anything if you didn’t wish it,” he says before Bilbo can respond, noting the flare of indignation in his old lover’s eyes. “But you have a bad habit of trying to please those around you even when it does not please yourself.”

Unable to help himself he lifts his free hand to stroke Bilbo’s cheek, reveling as he watches his eyelids flutter closed and lips part slightly. Warmth spreads beneath his palm as a slight tinge of pink appears on the apples of Bilbo’s cheeks.

He so badly wants to kiss Bilbo it takes absolutely every iota of willpower to hold himself still and just watch his own thumb tracing the contours beneath the Hobbit’s eye.

“Please yourself, Bilbo.” He says. “I will accept nothing less than your complete happiness.”

Bilbo sounds choked when he replies, and his eyes are slightly damp when they open again, still holding one of Thorin’s hands while the other caresses his face. “If it didn’t mean throwing every single promise I made myself coming here out the window I would kiss you right now.”

Thorin’s chest squeezes. “I wish you would.”

“Me too.” Bilbo’s smile is tremulous. “But unluckily for us I’m only just stronger than that.”

The disappointment is sharp but not unexpected. Thorin lets the hand on Bilbo’s cheek fall and moves to unlink their fingers but Bilbo tightening his grip stops him.

“Only just.” Bilbo repeats and reaches up to rest his free palm over Thorin’s chest.

It’s impossible that he doesn’t feel how fast his heart is beating, and when their eyes meet again the tenderness there is more suffocating than anything Thorin has ever felt before, even the gold sickness in its final and strongest throes. Such tenderness is something he knows he doesn’t deserve.

He wishes he could drown himself in it.

“So every time I touch you here, like this,” Bilbo whispers softly as he turns their clasped hands to link only their pinkies together, “know that it is me telling you that I desperately want to kiss you.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin says hoarsely.

The Hobbit’s smile is brilliant. “That’s better.”

He squeezes Thorin’s pinky with his own before letting the hand on his chest fall, and letting him go to step backwards towards the door, holding Thorin’s eyes the entire time.

“Don’t forget that tomorrow.” He says with a small smile, edged with such precious hope Thorin is tempted to keep him here, safe from anything that could make that expression vanish. “Even in front of the others.”

“If it is your wish.” Thorin says finally, solemn and finally regaining control of himself. Bilbo well knows the lack of titles and formalities are akin to declarations to Dwarves, and though he has gladly allowed Bilbo’s use of Thorin’s name, to appear so familiar in turn is no small thing. The others will hear it and they will know something has happened. “Then, Bilbo, I will bid you goodnight.”

Something flickers on the Hobbit’s face as he nods. “Good night, Thorin.”

And then he slips away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's a chance you're all going to hate Glóin after this chapter and I just want to say I really really hope you don't because I did my best to make him sympathetic too? Or at least understand where he's coming from.   
> Expect some Gigolas goodness!
> 
> Âzyungel- love of loves  
> Inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublag- Pointy-eared lembas-muncher  
> Nidoy- boy  
> Gimlelul- my brightest star

The next time Thorin sees Bilbo is at supper where every single member of the Company is together again, along with Tauriel and Dís. Legolas has been invited because Thorin has been forcefully reminded by Balin that he is at least to try and play happy host for his guests. What’s more, the Elf Prince has asked that Gimli be invited to join as well, which Thorin had readily granted, but it is causing some problems at the table.

He should have spoken to Glóin first, Thorin thinks mournfully as he carefully looks between the father, his son, and the prince. It doesn’t help that every single person at the table notices, and knows exactly what is going on and, as a result, has seemed to divide themselves into different sides. Several of them sporadically send warning glares Legolas’ way, which the Elf either doesn’t notice or ignores, where others are sending glares back towards those offending Dwarves.

Thorin is sure that there have been more than a few misaimed kicks under the table, which also has not improved anybody’s moods.

Thorin sits at the head of the table, and beside him are Fíli and Kíli. Next to Kíli sits Bilbo, and then Tauriel beside him, Legolas next to Tauriel and Gimli beside him. On Gimli’s other side is Ori and then Bofur and Bifur to finish off the row. Gandalf is sitting opposite of Thorin and shooting them all looks that alternate between extreme fondness and aggravation.

Beside Fíli is Dís who is watching Bilbo and Thorin so closely that he knows Bilbo has also noticed. No matter how many times Thorin glares at her or gestures for Fíli to get his mother’s attention and distract her, it does no good. His sister is the most stubborn Dwarf Thorin has ever known of, and he is including himself in that statement. What is worse are her unsubtle attempts at pulling the conversation to topics that Thorin would rather were best left forgotten for the rest of time.

Subjects like his youth, when he had been a shy and quiet Dwarfling. Or about the numerous times she has beaten him when sparring- never mind that he has beaten her more than that. She has even deigned to mention a subject as banal as his poor eyesight.

However, the worst of it is that Bilbo, though obviously seeing through Dís’ attempts to the motivation beneath, is doing nothing to discourage it all. And because Fíli and Kíli are in the immediate proximity and can hear every word perfectly, instead of helping Thorin avoid the embarrassment and torture of recounting his childhood and failings, they eagerly join in and help their mother.

Bilbo is laughing a lot though. Laughing and ceaselessly asking questions to ply more information from them all.

“I always told you your eyes were bad!”

“They are perfectly fine.” Thorin growls at the Hobbit. “And if you say one more time-”

“If you only got glasses like I told you to I bet you would notice a huge difference.”

The eyes in debate narrow. “They are not bad enough to effect my everyday life or cause me any frustration-”

“Oh really?” Dís breaks in. “Those papers Balin made you read last week, you didn’t have to hold them a hairsbreadth from your eyes to see the words?”

“Well that-”

“And when I was younger and learning to shoot the bow sometimes you couldn’t tell when I’d hit the bullseye unless you walked closer to see it!”

Thorin turns his glare on his younger nephew. “That is entirely-”

“And who was it in our Company,” Bilbo muses out loud, making Thorin fall quiet and Kíli grin at escaping his wrath, tapping a smug finger to his lips as they spread upwards, “that lost his way trying to find the mark Gandalf put on my door?”

“Twice.” Fíli helpfully supplies.

Thorin’s glare increases but at the look Bilbo gives him, full of teasing and laughter, he finds himself looking down at the table and taking a large swig of ale. “Any one of you could have done the same.”

“Did you really get lost twice, brother? In the Shire?”

He slants a look at Dís. “Perhaps I did.”

“But it’s hardly a huge or confusing place.” She laughs happily and turns to Bilbo. “I would suspect it’s quite easy to find your home, is it not Bilbo?”

“Oh yes, very. Bright green door and everything. It had even been newly painted that week.”

“I must have the worst family in all of Middle-Earth.” Thorin laments up at the ceiling and Fíli laughs.

“Oh Uncle, you know we love you.”

“Besides you need to be reminded of your occasional shortcomings or else your head would get far too big.” Bilbo says happily.

“Occasional? How generous you are.”

“He’s being very generous; I would have said far worse.” Dís answers Thorin’s sarcasm with her own and winks at Kíli who smiles back. “Isn’t that right boys?’

“Oh definitely.” Kíli meets Tauriel’s eyes when the Elf looks over questioningly, having only heard the past few sentences. “Mum’s ruthlessly honest.”

“As I am sure everybody here knows.” Thorin intones. “You never have been one to hold your tongue, Dís.”

“And why should I?”

“I can think of a few instances where your assumptions have gotten you into trouble.”

Dis opens her mouth but something makes her close it again quickly. “Hmm. I suppose you’re right.”

Thorin and his nephews stare at her in shock and she shoots them all glares. “Don’t give me that, finish your food you two. Thorin you should know better than to gape like a dead-brained fish.”

He blinks and turns away only to meet Bilbo’s eyes and be greeted with his silent laughter.

Hmm. Perhaps the conversation is best forgotten.

Just in time too, for his eyes fell on Dori, who is beside Dís but glaring down at the other end of the table where Dwalin and Nori are sitting beside Gandalf. They are in heated debate with the Wizard over something Thorin hasn’t been paying attention to but is making Ori’s ears red as he watches the three of them.

“That’s enough out of you two!” The eldest of the three brothers calls.

When none of them even glance in his direction Dori’s hands began fidgeting in agitation and he mutters to himself. “The indecency! Right in front of Ori… Gandalf should know better than that… why if it wasn’t for propriety I would…”

Thorin’s lips twitch in amusement as he finally catches a fragment of what Gandalf is saying.

“Absolutely none of your concern what I do with my free time, thank you.”

“But you must have some ways of amusing yourself- Dwalin and I could help you out with that Gandalf-”

Both Dwalin and Thorin splutter and cough at the same time. Dwalin at least has the excuse of drinking out of his tankard. Thorin on the other hand is left with his eyes streaming tears from choking on nothing more than his own air. Kíli worriedly claps him on the back.

Oh Mahal, those words are going to be seared into his brain forever.

“We absolutely will not!” Dwalin roars and rounds on Nori who is killing himself in laughter.

Gandalf is thankfully looking at them as if they are mildly annoying amusements and not the bane of his existence. And his staff is still leaning firmly against the arm of his chair with no sign of him moving to grab it and curse the pair.

Ori has determinedly turned to Bombur and Balin, since Bofur and Bifur are dozing happily on one another’s shoulders. Each of them have had a bit to drink and are somehow managing to drown out the noise of everyone else’s conversation. In all honesty, they seem quite happy to be left to it. Bombur and Balin meanwhile are sitting beside Dwalin, and seem glad to include the young Dwarf in their simple conversation, even if it means raising their voices in an effort to be heard across the table.

And in the middle is Glóin glaring daggers at Gimli and Legolas.

The poor Dwarf’s eyebrows are furrowed so closely together they make one unbroken, scrunched up line. His mouth is settled into a grim press of lips and his eyes are so sharp Thorin wonders if Legolas and Gimli can be stupid enough to miss it or just stubborn enough to ignore it.

But looking at the two he knows almost immediately that it isn’t stubbornness or stupidity. The pair are just hopelessly enveloped in their conversation with one another, so much so that Tauriel, who had begun the evening speaking to them both, has apparently given up and is now happily talking to Thorin’s family.

“We could go to Dale tomorrow, if you like.” Legolas is saying.

“You’re just sick of the mines.” Gimli grouses, but he seems anything but unhappy, if Thorin’s judgement can be trusted.

Legolas’ smile is delighted. Thorin has to admit, even only in his own mind, that he does look completely enraptured with Gimli. For a moment he wonders what exactly it is about each other that has them both so intrigued, and then decides it is better for him not to think on it too much.

“I confess they are stifling after a while. You truly never tire of them?”

“Never. They’re comforting to me. The same way your trees are to you.”

“They are not _my_ trees. But I see what you mean.”

Gimli grunts but when he glances over and up to meet the Elf’s eyes there is no annoyance or hostility there. That is, until Legolas’ face becomes carefully blank, and his tone of voice follows suit.

“I suppose then that means you won’t want to accept my invitation to visit Greenwood after the wedding? As you are far more comfortable here, and seem to dislike my home so much?”

Thorin freezes, and his attention darts to Glóin whose eyes have widened. The older Dwarf seems to have stopped breathing altogether and Óin looks up from where he’d been eating quietly to thump his brother on the back in an effort to help.

When Thorin looks back at the pair he meets Tauriel’s gaze and notes that she seems just as surprised as the rest of them. Something almost like worry clouds her brown eyes and it makes a heavy feeling drop in his stomach.

Gimli puts his goblet down slowly. The sound it makes, though soft, seems loud to Thorin even through the surrounding din. “I- you said you would let me think about it.”

“And I will.” Legolas turns resolutely back to the table. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’ve asked him where?”

Glóin stands, bracing himself on the table, to stare down at the pair of them. His face is red and blotchy, and his fingers clench around the table edge strongly, making his knuckles go pale.

His loud outburst makes the entire table quieten, even the trio at the end, and Gandalf looks up in silent question.

Thorin closes his eyes and wishes for strength before he speaks as well. “Glóin -”

But for once the other Dwarf ignores him.

“Father, I-”

“My son will not be going to that sick spider-infested forest you call a home. He is a Dwarf of Erebor and belongs here.” Glóin’s eyes narrow further and are almost lost in the surrounding facial hair. “He has no wish to surround himself with a group of tree-shagging-”

“Gloin!” He says more firmly, and this time silence falls so thickly that Thorin can hear Kíli and Fíli’s nervous breathing beside him. “This is a private family matter and now is not the time to deal with it.”

“If you’d heard what this _inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublag_ asked my boy you would be just as outraged, Thorin.”

Legolas rises as well and speaks before Thorin can reply. His expression is tight, but the emotion behind it is hidden enough that Thorin does not know what is most dominant in the Elf Prince: anger, indignation or insult.

“Take care how you speak, Dwarf. I do not take kindly to being insulted, not even by Gimli’s father.”

“Why you-”

“I have heard.” Thorin says to interrupt Glóin once again. “And I do not think now is the appropriate time to discuss it.”

“I won’t sit here and watch this.” Glóin says furiously. “I won’t allow it.”

“Father you’re overreacting.” Gimli stands too, and withstands the looks thrown his way resolutely. “It is an innocent invitation-”

“Innocent! Innocent? He asked you home with him, _nidoy_ , do not tell me you are so short of brains you don’t see his intentions!”

Gimli winces a bit at the harshness in Glóin’s voice, and Thorin knows the boy is hurt, though he did an admirable job at hiding it.

Still when he speaks he sounds just as gruff as ever, and more determined than before. “Legolas is my friend-”

“The bloody Elf has been mooning over you ever since he stepped foot back in Erebor and you’ve let him! Worse, you’ve encouraged it!”

Glóin rants on and this time there are several sharp inhalations of breath. Tauriel shifts beside Legolas and lightly touches his arm as the prince flinches.

That action alone is enough for Thorin to see the truth of Glóin’s accusation. Ever since Legolas had come to Erebor Thorin has privately wondered about the true nature of the relationship between him and Gimli, but this is confirmation enough, at least for now. Elves are masters at keeping their composure and Thranduil is the best of them all. For Legolas, who is so like his father in so many ways, to react so openly, is proof enough that Glóin’s words have been a well-aimed blow.

Still Gimli tries to calm his father. “That’s not what’s- I’ve told you again and again, I knew you weren’t listening!”

“Why should I listen to your lies when I can see the truth with my own eyes? You’re a pair of fools, Gimli, and I won’t watch you behave this way any longer.”

“Uncle,” Kíli turns to Thorin, making him remember his own power in this. “Stop him.”

“Master Glóin -”

Gloin rounds on Tauriel with fire in his eyes. “This does not concern you!”

It heartens Thorin when several of the others stand up to defend Tauriel at that. He looks down beside him when he feels somebody come to stand by his side.

“Say something.” Bilbo says quietly as arguments break out all around. “He’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Thorin had already been opening his mouth, but his eyes hold Bilbo’s for a moment, seeing the grimness he feels himself shining from them.

The next moment he is standing up. “That is enough.”

It cuts through them all like a blade. One by one they fall silent and turn to him. Whatever is in his face is enough to make most of the Company sit down once more.

“You will not discuss this here.”

Glóin’s teeth snap together. “This is my son, Thorin.”

Thorin bristles. “And as his father you have a responsibility to listen to him when he tries to explain himself. But this family matter does not concern the rest of us, and you should resolve your issues privately. I will not change my mind,” he continues when Glóin opens his mouth.

“Listen to him.” Óin grunts, gripping Glóin’s elbow and locking eyes with his younger brother. “You’re upset brother, and your temper has always been your worst enemy.

Glóin heaves in a deep breath and glares one last look at Legolas. “I will not have you near my son any more.”

“That is not your decision to make.” Thorin says quietly, internally preparing for the brunt of Glóin’s anger to turn to him.

“Father-” Gimli begins.

He sounds hurt and angry, and when Thorin’s gaze turns to him, he sees Legolas is watching Gimli with a horrible, heart-rending sadness that makes any words he has die on his tongue.

When he quickly glances around to see if any others have noticed he sees that both Tauriel and Bilbo are watching Legolas as well. The former with creased brows and the latter with eyes wide in realization.

The others are thankfully watching Gimli or Glóin, trying to prepare for the inevitable continuation of the fight. Thorin sees Bombur sneaking several pieces of food off the table and away from Glóin’s immediate vicinity.

He would have smiled in a different situation.

“Not another word from you.” Glóin snaps at Gimli and the younger Dwarf’s face goes from an expression of hurt to determination.

“Glóin go home.” Thorin says tiredly, and silently makes a note to apologize to Mimi for tasking her to deal with her husband in such a state. “Cool off and think things through.”

“I will not-”

Surprising them all, Legolas speaks again before they can devolve into a true argument, one that Thorin isn’t looking forward to having but would suffer through all the same.

“I am sorry for causing you trouble.” The prince speaks to Gimli, though he does glance at Glóin before looking over at Thorin. “If you would excuse me.”

Without waiting for Thorin’s leave the Elf quickly steps out from the bench and slips through the door.

Immediately things devolve into chaos.

“Legolas!” Gimli hurries to follow his friend. His feet thump solidly to the ground as he runs to follow.

“Gimli don’t you dare!” Glóin makes a move but both Óin and, surprising everybody with his sudden appearance, Bofur grabs his arms to stop him.

“I think you’ll want to take a moment there,” Bofur says quietly but firmly.

“Let me go, miner.”

Bofur’s face hardens but his grip doesn’t ease. “That’s your son, Glóin. And we all know how much you care for him. But you need to calm down before you say more that you’ll wish to take back tomorrow.”

Glóin looks around at them all as if searching for allies. When he finds none his attention eventually falls to his brother.

“None of you agree?”

Many of them shake their heads. Óin pats Glóin’s shoulder.

“Calm yourself brother and I’ll take you home.”

“I’m not a child.” Glóin mutters and Óin snorts.

“You’ve done a fine job of trying to show us otherwise. Acting like you’re a Dwarfling again, pish. Soon as you’re away from Mimi you lose all damn sense. Especially when you’ve had too much drink.”

“Gimli might not see it, but I do. What that Elf feels for him isn’t just friendship.”

“Talk to Gimli about it,” Bilbo says kindly. “See how he feels.”

“Glóin, we have all learned to overcome our old prejudices.” Dís sounds soft and glances at Kíli and Tauriel only briefly before holding the other Dwarf’s attention. “I know it can be difficult when it is those you care about who are involved, but that is when it is most important to have an open-mind and stay supportive. It will be difficult enough without Gimli worrying he’s lost your love over this.”

“What? Never!” Glóin sounds insulted. “I only care because I love him so.”

“Love him enough to listen to him.” Kíli says.

Glóin finally seems to think enough to realize that those he is talking to have more experience in this area than anyone else. He looks over to Kíli and Tauriel and though his voice is calmer his words are stubborn. “It’s not the same, lad.”

“Is it not?” Tauriel asks patiently. She does not sound happy, but neither does she appear insulted or angery at Glóin’s behaviour towards her. “You have accepted me, Master Glóin, and I have come to care for you as I have for every one of Kíli’s friends. Can you not do the same for Legolas?”

Glóin falls silent and Thorin chooses to speak again. “As it is, we do not know the exact situation. You must speak to him and find out the truth of it.” He pauses. “And allow him to tell you his side.”

The red-bearded Dwarf sighs heavily. “I think I know already. And I suspect you’re all quite right. I’ve made a mess of things.”

“It is a mess that can be fixed. You have said nothing you can’t apologize for.” Dís says solemnly. “But do not let him go a minute longer thinking he has disappointed you.”

At that moment the door bursts open again, and Gimli stands there looking furious.

“You’ve got what you wanted, Father. Legolas refuses to speak to or even see me and has broken off our friendship. I am sorry, Your Majesty, but you will have to find another Dwarf to accompany him in Erebor.”

Without closing the door again Gimli stomps off.

Thorin sighs even as Glóin hustles to call after his son. Though he wants his friend to make up with Gimli as soon as possible, he doubts Gimli will want to speak to his father now.

Thinking quickly, he glances beside him. “Kíli go see if Gimli is alright.”

“Yes, Uncle.” His nephew murmurs and squeezes Tauriel’s hand before leaving.

“Dís, you’d best go speak to Glóin and Mimi. I’ll follow shortly.”

She nods and goes, dragging a lagging Óin behind her as she does.

“Thorin, I’ll go and speak to-”

“Yes, that’s probably best.” Thorin agrees with Tauriel and she turns to hurry away. “Fíli will you handle everything here?”

His nephew nods, looking unhappy. “Will this ruin anything?”

Thorin thinks of Legolas refusing to even see Gimli and feels a chill of concern. “I hope not.”

Fíli nods again and Thorin turns to his other side. “Bilbo-”

“On it.” The Hobbit smiles. “We’ll switch after?”

Thorin blinks but feels a rush of relief. “Yes. Don’t let him leave.”

They hurry to the door. Behind them Thorin hears Gandalf say something that causes muttered agreement through the rest of the Company.

Bilbo looks a shade paler than a moment ago. “Do you really think he would go because of this?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “He may choose to stay in Dale or leave to go back to Mirkwood altogether. I would rather he did not.”

“But the appearance that would give…”

“Exactly.” He stops outside of Glóin’s family compartments while Bilbo stops in front of Legolas’ door. “I’ll see you later?”

Bilbo nods in determination. “See you on the other side.”

And in they both go.

Thorin is met with a screaming match.

“-absolutely appalling, Glóin son of Groin! How could you say such things? You have doted on that boy since you first laid eyes on him!”

“I’m trying to apologize,” Glóin bangs on a closed door while shooting Mimi a pleading look. “Gimli, open up! I’m sorry, _gimlelul_ , I truly am! Let me speak with you.”

Dís moves to Thorin’s side, making him start a bit. “Kíli is in there with Gimli. He came home so upset that he didn’t even speak to Mimi. She’s not happy with Glóin.”

“I can see that.” He sighs again and moves over to the fighting couple, passing Óin who is smoking a pipe in an armchair and seems quite happy to let things resolve themselves. “May I speak with you both?”

“NOT NOW!”

Their unanimous yell makes him loose some of his patience. Honestly, this isn’t even his business. Before their quest he never would have imposed on such a personal matter like this.

But he has experience in this area, as does Dís. And Glóin listens to him, at least most of the time. If Thorin can spare their family any pain in helping Glóin overcome his issues, then he will. For all of their sakes.

He looks at Dís who shrugs and moves to the kitchen for some unfathomable reason. Probably to leave Thorin to deal with this mess.

“Kíli is with him so he is not alone.” Thorin tries again. “And right now I suspect the last thing he wants to listen to is more yelling. Perhaps the three of us should sit with Óin and allow Gimli time to calm down as well.”

That seems to do the trick and both Mimi and Glóin slowly turn to him and nod. They’re tense, and stay a good distance from one another, but at least they are quiet as the three of them move to the chairs and sofas.

“Our poor boy,” Mimi murmurs. “What he must think of us.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Glóin mutters sounding tired. “I am the one who behaved foolishly.”

“Well we’re in agreement there.” She snaps back, though not as harshly as moments ago. “Honestly, Glóin, what were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t thinking.” Óin grunts from his armchair. “Really brother, have you forgotten how Father reacted when you announced you were in love and going to marry Mimi?”

Glóin’s head falls further and Thorin winces. Gróin had been a tough and old-fashioned Dwarf. Though the chance of the throne ever falling to Óin or Glóin was grim, Gróin had prized their noble-lineage and been proud of their family’s ancestry.

When Glóin had fallen in love with Mimi, who had been a commoner, neither of his parents had been happy.

Still Glóin looks unhappy. “It’s not the same. Mimi is a Dwarf.”

Thorin’s hand clenches.

Dís slams down a tray of tea on the table separating the couple and Thorin. “I find I have no patience for those kind of comments given who my son is marrying, Glóin.”

“We love who we love.” Thorin adds quietly and Glóin starts, snapping out of his ponderings, before a flash of guilt crosses his face. Thorin’s hand clenches further.

“I didn’t mean-”

Thorin waves him off. He is in no mood for his own love life to be dredged into this. Luckily he knows Glóin well. The Dwarf is not prejudiced, at least Thorin had not thought so, given that he had been one of the first to support Kíli and Tauriel, and had given Thorin his staunch and steady approval in regards to Bilbo ages ago.

No, if he has to guess from personal experience, it is merely Glóin’s protectiveness over Gimli that makes him react so. If things between him and Legolas are truly as Glóin suspects then the future will not be easy for Gimli. Not as easy as they would have been if the object of his affections had been another Dwarf.

“I know I reacted wrong.” Glóin says and confirms Thorin’s thoughts. Óin and Dís help themselves to cups of tea while Mimi glares at her cowed husband. “I lost my temper.”

Mimi sighs unhappily. “You always say things you don’t mean when you’re angry.”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “He’s our boy, Mimi, and I know what that Elf feels for him. I can see it.”

“And so what? What is wrong with it?”

“In a perfect world, nothing.” Glóin says mournfully. “But we Dwarves are pig-headed fools. I’m a prime example.”

“That you are.” She mutters. “How can you expect others to change when you have not yourself?”

“It’s not that. I wanted to avoid the issue altogether. If I could keep them apart, spare them the trouble, have them choose somebody else and move on…”

Thorin stares resolutely at Gimli’s closed door. He feels somebody’s stare, likely Dís, but doesn’t turn back around and instead watches them all in his periphery.

“Oh Glóin,” Mimi moves towards her husband and grabs his hand to bring it to her lips fiercely. “You know if it is as you suspect then that isn’t possible.”

That makes him look back in surprise. Perhaps he has underestimated the relationship between Legolas and Gimli after all. Is it love so soon?

Kíli knew within a few days, he reminds himself. And with Bilbo…

…yes. It could be love already. Perhaps it had been for a long time now.

“I do.”

“It is not the end of the world.” Dís says eventually, effectively breaking the tension, making everyone look to her. “As our family proves it is… normal. The will of Mahal.”

Thorin stays quiet.

Óin grunts. “The boy is strong enough to know his own heart. Just like you were, little brother.”

“Hmm.” Glóin grunts and sighs. “If only he would speak to me, so I can apologize and at least try and explain.”

“You’ll be doing more listening than talking though, won’t you?” Mimi orders.

His lips twitch for a moment. “Yes, sweet one.”

“Well,” Thorin stands, feeling incredibly useless.

He doesn’t know why he has stayed so long or even come in the first place truthfully. His true priority should have been Legolas and ensuring relations between Erebor and Mirkwood won’t be ruined because of what has happened today. But he had been concerned and, despite himself, interested. For some reason, seeing Glóin’s change of heart had been important to him, and he is glad to have witnessed it. Something inside him settles a bit at the knowledge.

But it is true he isn’t needed here, and he gestures to the door. “If everyone is calmer perhaps I should-”

“If you see the Elf,” Glóin says suddenly and cutting him off. “Would you ask him if I could go see him?” His lips press in an unhappy line but stubbornness wins out. “I have to see Gimli first but him… I owe him a few words.”

Thorin eyes him closely. “You cannot shout at him.”

Glóin scowls. “I know that. I’m not- blast it, Thorin, don’t make me say it.”

That is enough for him and he nods. “I’ll ask him.”

“Thank you.” Mimi says as Glóin nods in appreciation back.

“Are you staying?” He asks Dís as he passes her, and she looks up at him. There is something in her eyes that makes him pause a moment. Concern, or a question of some sort, but he can’t read what it is and so leaves it unanswered.

“I’ll wait for Kíli.”

He nods and continues on to leave the family’s quarters and head next door to Legolas’ visiting chambers.

His knock seems loud in the hallway that is deserted apart from the guards stationed outside, and he hears the sudden hush of the voices within, right before Bilbo’s forced cheerfulness reaches him. “I suspect that’s just Thorin!”

The Hobbit is the one who opens the door. They give each other identical looks of curiosity.

“He’s upset but might clam up now that you’re here.” Bilbo whispers to him as Thorin slips inside. His worried look doesn’t go away as they walk through the greeting parlour to the room beyond. “How’s next door?”

“Better now. Glóin is ready to grovel, though Gimli has shut himself away with only Kíli to talk to.”

“Hopefully that’s alright. Kíli will understand better than any, after all.”

“Hmm.” Thorin agrees as they come to the small antechamber before the bedroom and come into view of Legolas and Tauriel.

The scene that meets him here is much calmer than the one he’d walked into next door. Both of the Elves are standing beside the fireplace, but each of them seem at ease and relaxed. If it weren’t for the careful way Legolas’ eyes track Thorin and the slight downturn at the corner of the Elf’s lips, the Dwarf wouldn’t know anything is amiss.

If he hadn’t already known anything was wrong, he likely wouldn’t have even noticed those two simple things.

“Prince Legolas.” He thinks it best to tread carefully but finds himself thankful that it is only Bilbo and Tauriel there to witness his discomfort. This is as close as he will ever come to grovelling to Elves, he promised himself, and it is only for the love of his family and his Company that he does so. “I would like to formally apologize for-”

“It is unnecessary.” Legolas’ interruption makes Thorin blink, taken aback. Though Tauriel looks displeased, the Elf Prince doesn’t appear to notice. “I am at fault and should apologize to you.”

It doesn’t escape Thorin’s notice that the Elf does not, in fact, apologize to him, but he chooses to push that aside. Now is not the time for his old prejudices to cause problems, and besides: Legolas is not Thranduil. In the Battle of Five Armies the two of them had put their petty animosity aside and Thorin refuses to be the one to make it resurface.

He takes in the Elf carefully, more closely than he had initially, now that they stand closer together, and he sees something in those blue eyes that makes him feel a twinge of sympathy for the other being.

Not a lot, mind. But a twinge.

Suddenly he feels a rush of confidence. This he understands, he thinks to himself. Being uncertain in love, having to suffer disapproval and scrutiny from those around you, and perhaps even feeling the weight of a crown and the expectations of an entire kingdom… that is something Thorin knows all too well.

“If you would speak alone with me.” He gestures at the neglected chairs and doesn’t wait for a reply, expecting Legolas to follow. His manners only go so far towards Elves, especially in his own kingdom.

With a quiet gesture to Tauriel the prince seems to accept. She nods and moves to go towards the greeting room, making eye contact with Thorin as she heads towards the door.

He isn’t sure what she reads in his face but it seems enough for her features to settle and for her to nod at him. He looks away, not wanting to reveal too much of his emotional state. Although truthfully he isn’t sure what it is he’s feeling in that moment.

It’s Bilbo who comes towards not Legolas but Thorin. The Hobbit is frowning a bit with uncertainty. “You’re sure?”

“I will watch what I say.” Thorin reassures him and Bilbo smiles a bit in fondness and replies slightly teasing.

“I have every faith in you.”

“At least one of us does,” he grumbles and Bilbo’s smile grows. “Go. I’ll be good.”

“Alright then. Come meet us when you’re done. Maybe I’ll go and quickly check on Glóin.” With a last warm look, the Hobbit follows Tauriel, and they leave the room quietly, closing the door behind them.

Suddenly the space feels much smaller than before and both he and Legolas tense a bit at being in such intimate company with one another.

But Thorin reminds himself that Gimli has people to comfort him, people who understand. And though Bilbo and Tauriel are likely as much of a help to Legolas as Thorin can hope to be, he still feels he can also be useful here.

“I will be frank with you,” Thorin begins bluntly when Legolas sits uneasily across from him.

He leans forward, trying to ignore the weight of the knowledge that Bilbo is in the next room and can easily listen in. It is unlike the Hobbit to do so, but maybe not entirely out of the question. Tauriel does have Elf hearing after all.

“Your relationship with Gimli has my support.”

Though Legolas hadn’t been moving it is like the Elf freezes in place all the same. His blue eyes sharpen, and finally, for the first time since Thorin had appeared in his rooms, it feels like he is giving him the full weight of his attention.

“And though earlier would lead you to think otherwise, I know that Glóin will not stand in your way.” Legolas opens his mouth. “Not because I, or anyone else, have forced him. But because he cares more for Gimli than anything else on this earth. And if he is right in his belief of what you two are to one another, then you make his son happier than anything else.”

“I don’t know the particulars and nor do I wish to,” Thorin sits back, eyeing Legolas just as closely as the Elf watches him. Even now there is still a chance, slim but there, that Gimli and Legolas feel friendship and nothing more for one another. And though he does not want to pry, and would rather not know, his position and influence in the situation make it necessary that he is certain. “But if Glóin is wrong in his assumption please tell me now and I will do my best to clear this misunderstanding up within the hour.”

Legolas meets his eyes as if in challenge and says nothing.

The confirmation settles heavily in the room and Thorin is glad as the uncertainty disappears.

“Then I will tell you this.” He bends forward again. “I have been in a similar position to yours and in the face of others disapproval I did what you have done and pushed the One I love away.”

The Elf’s face flickers with shock, and though it can hardly have been a secret given that Tauriel and Legolas are so close, and Thranduil is smart enough to have guessed the majority of what Thorin is now saying, it seems the Prince of Mirkwood had never thought to have it confirmed so directly.

“It is the worst thing you can possibly do.” Thorin say seriously, intent and focused. The old familiar ache has returned to his chest, and reminds him painfully of every night he’d spent alone, and every time he’d looked to his side, expecting to find Bilbo, and been met with nothing in his place. “You will suffer, more painfully and inescapably than you have ever suffered before, no matter what wounds you have overcome in the past. And in that suffering, there will be nobody you want more by your side than the one you pushed away. But to break someone’s heart like that is not an easy thing to forgive and I will remind you, and hope you listen better than I did, that it is not only your heart you will be breaking in pushing Gimli aside.

“I have been informed that Dwarves and Elves are not so different. We both love deeply and irreversibly. You cannot escape this. And deep down I don’t believe that you wish to. So for your sake, for Gimli’s sake, I ask that you listen to that part of yourself and do not try to run.”

Legolas leans forward too and Thorin notices his attention move to the door where Bilbo’s voice drifts through.

“The one you love,” he begins softly. “You could not stay apart in the end?”

“I didn’t wish to.” Thorin answers honestly. He is still too private to declare outright that it is Bilbo he’s talking about, but it seems that Legolas doesn’t need him to. “And I am still trying to fix my mistake.”

If Thorin didn’t know better, he would say his words make Legolas look sad. “I don’t want to hurt Gimli. Especially not like that.”

Thorin has to bite his tongue to stop himself from explaining that he hadn’t intended for Bilbo’s heartbreak to be as permanent as his own, and that he had previously believed Hobbits were not meant to be bound to one love the same way their two species are, but he manages. Now is not the time for his indignation, and Legolas had not meant to be insulting. The Elf is more concerned with other matters.

Legolas meets his gaze again. “He’s told me, you know. About the way Dwarves love and their Ones.”

Thorin finds himself stunned at the sight of a blush creeping up Legolas’ neck to his ears.

And though it is intensely personal, and perhaps none of his business, he can’t stop himself from asking. “Did he say you were his?”

“No. Not in so many words. But I think I am.” Legolas closes even more of the distance between them. “Does it truly mean what he said? Tauriel told me what Kíli has explained to her but I- if I could hear it from another Dwarf.”

His blush deepens and it is the embarrassment and vulnerability that makes Thorin acquiesce.

He inclines his head ever so slightly.

“I do not know what Gimli has told you, but it is… to us it is one of the most powerful and respected parts of our culture. A blessing that only touches few of our people.” He thinks over his next words. “There is a difference between love and a Dwarf finding their One. Both are powerful. One is a choice and one is not.

“A Dwarf’s feelings towards their One…It is a bond so pure and so strong that the gods themselves have made it impossible to break. We are a… strong-willed race,” he says carefully and is placated when Legolas does not so much as smirk. There are a few other words that he could have used after all, stubborn, obstinate and possessive among them. “And we feel deeply. Finding your One is more than finding a life-partner, it is finding the other half of yourself. The One being in all of Arda who completes you because it is as if you are the only two parts of the same person.

“It does not mean there will be no hardship or disagreement, but rather that you find those core values in the very center of your soul that you hold important, the things that matter most to you, in another person. And hopefully they find theirs in you.”

He clears his throat and pulls away, hoping his own face isn’t flaming. Legolas also blinks and tries to school his features into that careful blankness he and his father share, though Thorin can see the emotions that slip through. Legolas does not have the expertise in feigning neutrality that Thranduil does. The Elf is listening, and listening carefully. He is not taking Thorin’s words lightly.

“You saw what it was like for Kíli and Tauriel,” Thorin says finally. “And you see how they are with one another. The lengths they have crossed to be together. That instant powerful connection, the understanding and devotion, that is what it is like.”

“Is it always so… instant?” Legolas inquires slowly. “Between Gimli and I, we did not begin… it was not love, in the start. That came later.”

Thorin thinks back to his own beginning with Bilbo. “No. The love is not always instant but the depth of the feelings… that is there from the beginning.” He hesitates. “For me it began as curiosity. I was intrigued and though I tried to ignore it I couldn’t. And the more I got to know him… well.” He avoids the Elf’s gaze. “I was helpless to stop it after that.”

When he is finally brave enough to look back, he sees the Elf’s eyes are wide and shocked.

“Yes.” He says so quietly it is almost a breath. “That is-”

He seems to catch himself and Thorin watches as he visibly shakes off whatever had made him freeze up.

“Thank you, King Thorin.” Legolas says solemnly. The shift in emotion surprises Thorin but he doesn’t react outwardly. “That is all the confirmation I need. Your words have helped me greatly.”

“I’m glad.” He says a bit awkwardly. Now that he’s said all he intended he feels extremely out of his comfort zone. “Now I think I should-”

Legolas grabs his arm to stop him from standing up and Thorin immediately tenses, though the Elf has already pulled away by the time he can muster a glare.

“One more thing.” The Elf looks around the room shiftily before taking a quick breath and meeting his eyes again. If he was a Dwarf, Thorin would say he was nervous. “You went to Gimli first. Is he- have he and his family made peace?”

“Gimli was alone with Kíli when I was there. Nobody but my nephew has had a chance to speak to him.” Thorin holds the Elf’s attention. “Your refusal to continue the friendship you shared has effected him more than Glóin’s words.”

Legolas nods. “But you understand, don’t you? From what you told me you understand.”

“I do.” Thorin agrees. “But I hope you understood when I said it is a mistake, no matter your good intentions.”

“He is close to his father,” the Elf murmurs. “Far closer than I was with mine until recently. Glóin’s words matter to Gimli.”

“And I have told you, Glóin has calmed down enough to see his mistakes, and is doing his best to fix them if he has not already. Which reminds me,” he grumbles a bit now. “He has asked to see you. If you would allow it.”

The passive mask returns. “I will not allow myself to be unjustly insulted.”

“No,” Thorin has to agree with him there. “But thankfully I don’t think that is what Glóin wants to see you for. He is determined to try and make things right.”

Again Legolas seems nervous. “If he wishes to apologize I will not refuse him. I dread… I do not know how my father would react in the same circumstances.” His lips press together, going even paler than they normally are. “I have been wondering what will happen when that day comes.”

Now Thorin feels more uncomfortable than ever but he tries his best. “Love makes us do things we never would have though possible. You know how I felt about Elves before Kíli fell in love with Tauriel.”

“I know how you feel about many of us even now.” Legolas’ sudden grin is sharp but playful, and it wrongfoots Thorin. He isn’t used to that expression from Elves, especially not this Elf.

However, it only lasts for a moment before being replaced by a frown. “My father does not welcome change. Or surprises. And he has had more in the last five years than the last few decades preceding it.”

“We have all had to make adjustments.” Thorin mutters.

“Yes. But in this matter you have a personal investment. A reason for doing so.” Legolas looks even unhappier than before. “My father doesn’t.”

“Of course he does,” Thorin replies. “He has you.”

Legolas blinks.

Thorin loses patience. “Your father allowed Tauriel to leave Mirkwood with her life after she directly threatened him because of your influence. I think accepting your relations with one Dwarf is well within his capabilities. Especially as it is in its early stages.”

The last sentence he delivers with narrowed eyes and his most intimidating voice that doesn’t cross the line into threatening. He can accept that Gimli and Legolas are matched, but there are too many courtships and marriages going on around him at the moment. Not to mention that Gimli is still so young, anything more serious than a blooming relationship is more than what Thorin (and more importantly, he suspects, Glóin) will accept at the moment.

“Of course.” Legolas replies easily.

“Who are we to question the Valar’s plan?” He asks a tad sardonically before he stands up, but Legolas only nods seriously.

“I hope that means you will not be leaving for Dale or Mir- Greenwood?”

Legolas’ lips quirk a bit at his slip. “No. Not at present at least.”

“Good.” Thorin says and then after an uncomfortable and indecisive pause he begins to move towards the door.

“Thank you.”

They are two simple words, but they stop Thorin all the same. This time when he inclines his head the gesture holds more respect than it ever has before. More than he’d thought himself possible of for any Elf other than Tauriel.

“For what it’s worth,” Legolas calls when Thorin is just about to open the door, “I do not believe all hope is lost for you either.”

Thorin doesn’t answer though his hand does turn the door handle with a tighter grip than necessary. He finds Tauriel and Bilbo sitting beside each other, heads close as they speak between themselves, but both of them look up immediately at his entrance.

“Thank you for waiting,” he says, unsure of what else he can say.

Tauriel shoots him a bright wide smile before standing, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder comfortingly, and turning to look in the space behind Thorin to call to her friend. “Do you want company, Legolas?”

“If you’re offering!”

Tauriel’s grin softens and she looks back down at Bilbo. “We will continue our conversation,” she promises, and then comes to move past Thorin, but not before pausing to say, “thank you for helping him.”

Thorin clears his throat. “I expect Glóin will be coming by at some point.”

Tauriel nods seriously. “That is probably best.”

Then she moves on to go and sit with her friend and Thorin goes over to be closer to Bilbo.

“All well?” The Hobbit asks him kindly and Thorin’s heart clenches for no fathomable reason at all.

“As well as can be.” He glances towards the door. “I should go. There’s nothing else for me to do.”

“Nor I, I expect.” Bilbo stands up beside him and they walk together to leave. “I’m glad you spoke to him.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I- It was kind of you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” Bilbo’s intensity makes Thorin look down only to find the Hobbit already staring up at him. “I missed seeing it. Your kindness.”

The ache in his chest worsens and makes him speak rashly. “I do not usually share it with any but you.”

They stop in front of Legolas’ door, Thorin’s hand resting on the handle, ready to open it if it weren’t for the way he and Bilbo are staring at one another, eyes locked and speaking wordlessly.

It’s Bilbo who looks away first and spurs Thorin into finally opening the door. “I know that isn’t true. You’re kind to everyone you care about.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t answer that but Bilbo doesn’t seem to mind. Instead he laughs a bit in amusement. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening then?” He frowns as a thought strikes him. “You didn’t get to finish dinner. Do you want me to ask for something to be brought?”

“No that’s alright.” Bilbo shakes his head but the fond look from earlier is back, and Thorin isn’t sure what exactly he did to deserve it, but he’s certainly going to do his best to make sure it stays. “To be honest I’m quite tired. I think I’ll grab a good book and curl up in bed for the night. What about you?”

Bilbo isn’t the only one overcome with affection then and Thorin can’t help but let it spill out onto his face. He’s only glad that none of his family sees him so obviously besotted.

“I wish I could do the same. No, I’ll find Dís and speak to her quickly and then do some of the paperwork I neglected today.” He sighs. “Hopefully I’ll be able to finish at a reasonable time.”

“Oh.” Bilbo purses his lips. “If I can help in any way…”

“Thank you but I’ll spare you the drudgery of it all.” Thorin rolls his eyes as they come to a stop by Dís’ door. The guards nodded at them both.

“Well,” Bilbo smiles up at him. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

The Hobbit looks like he’s going to say more, stops himself, and then nods quickly before beginning to walk away.

Thorin, like the fool he is, watches him go.

He refuses to acknowledge that when Bilbo looks back and shares a smile with him his heart leaps.

* * *

Dís is waiting for him when he knocks and lets him in quickly. They are both tired of the whole debacle so Thorin is thankful that the updates she gives him are quick and full of good news.

“Kíli calmed Gimli down and had a good talk with the boy before he finally allowed Glóin in. Whatever they said to each other was enough for Glóin to come out smiling, though Gimli is still upset about Legolas refusing to see him. We all talked for a while but the poor boy went to bed early after Óin, Glóin and Mimi teamed up on him, which left the rest of us to talk amongst ourselves. I only just left, but I think Mimi and Glóin are planning on trying to speak with Legolas tonight before moving on from the whole thing.”

It is the best outcome they could have asked for and Thorin feels the last bit of worry over the whole thing melt away. “Good.”

“What news from your end?”

He tells her that Legolas isn’t leaving Erebor, is willing to talk to Glóin (and though Thorin hadn’t thought to ask about Mimi he suspects the Elf will gladly speak with her as well) and is in fact more besotted with Gimli than anyone except maybe Tauriel had known.

“Well that’s something.” Dís sinks back into a chair to think over his words. “Now we just have to wait and see how Gimli feels.”

He thinks back to what Legolas told him about Gimli explaining the concept of Ones to him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Is it? He was very shifty earlier, despite making up with Glóin, and very good at evading our questions. Always indirect answers.” She tilts her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t entirely know what he feels right now. Glóin pushed the situation tonight, but maybe Gimli needs more time to develop feelings on his side or realize them for what they are.”

“He is young yet,” Thorin admits.

“He is.” She agrees. “And though I agree with you on what their relationship will turn into I see no benefit in rushing it.”

Thorin agrees with her and they speak for only a few more minutes before he goes to leave.

“Thorin.” She catches his arm and he looks back in surprise. “I did not say this before at dinner because we were not alone, but I will say it now. To answer your earlier statement, my assumptions may have gotten me into trouble when I didn’t hold my tongue, but I can think of a few times when your unwillingness to share your thoughts with others has done the same. We all must learn to walk the balance, brother.”

His thoughts settle on Bilbo and yes, he can think of a few instances as well. Some more recent than most.

“I hear you.”

She nods and releases him. “Good night, brother.”

“Good night.” He replies and then goes back into the hallway.

Only to be met with a startled Gimli just leaving his family quarters.

The young Dwarf looks caught, and freezes when he spots Thorin standing in the hall. He blanches further when it becomes clear that Thorin has noticed him. Amusingly he hears him curse under his breath.

“Gimli.” He says and moves closer until they’re within speaking distance. His eyes take in the redness around Gimli’s eyes but also the way he glances towards the door next to his. The one that leads to Legolas’ rooms. “It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sire.” He’s obviously nervous, but when he speaks he sounds determined. Thorin tries to hide his amusement. “I was only…”

He trails off and Thorin takes pity on him. “I expect your parents are in bed?”

Gimli blushes easily. The poor soul will never be a gambler if his complexion gives away his thoughts so readily. “Yes. They visited Legolas and got back not long ago. I thought that I should...”

“Visit him yourself?” Thorin wonders if Tauriel is still with the prince and then wonders whether he should hope she is or not.

Gimli looks up at him imploringly. “I need to speak to him. And Mum and Dad said that he was planning on coming to see me tomorrow anyway but I-”

He catches his tongue and blushed brighter.

 _I couldn’t wait_. Thorin reads the unspoken words on his face and feels sympathy go through him.

Dammit. He hopes Gimli is as responsible as he has always seemed, and if not, then Legolas at least remembers himself enough to maintain some propriety.

He hopes Tauriel has gone to her and Kíli’s quarters. She should be spared whatever Gimli has planned for the evening, whether it is mere conversation or something more… intimate.

His stomach rolls a bit even as he steps aside and determinedly pushes any thoughts regarding the situation from his mind.

“Go on then, I’m sure he’s still up. Though don’t be too long.” He gives Gimli a pointed look. “I do have to give the appearance of enforcing tradition.”

Gimli’s blush is now so red it matches his hair and hides any beginnings of a beard he has. “Yes sire. Of course. I wasn’t- we aren’t…”

“It is not for me to know, Gimli.” Thorin reassures him. “Now hurry. You wouldn’t want anybody else to catch you.”

“Thank you.” The young Dwarf says and then hurries away, sparing one hesitant glance for the two Elven guards at Legolas’ door who let him in without a word.

Thorin smiles to himself and moves on, heading to his study.

It is over an hour later, maybe two, when a knock comes at his office door. It makes him startle in surprise and tear his bleary eyes away from the report he’s currently reading and trying not to fall asleep on top of.

Caan greets him with a dipped head. Thorin’s attention is immediately caught by what is in his hands.

“Sire. Master Baggins said if you were still working at this hour to bring this to you.”

He moves carefully to set the tray holding a cup of tea and plate of biscuits down in front of Thorin. A small but full teapot has a curl of steam escaping from its spout and a simple cup of honey sits next to it.

Thorin smiles and lifts the teacup, suddenly feeling much more awake. “Thank you, Caan.”

“Sire.” The Dwarf bows and backs away, leaving him alone once more.

After blowing on it gently, Thorin takes a slow sip of tea, relishing the dash of sweetness in it.

The paperwork seems to go by much quicker after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all again for your amazing commenting, I feel like I get more and more with every chapter! I've had an absolutely horrible day today (which is why this update is so late) and responding to you cheers me up so much! 
> 
> Remember if you have any ideas for fics you'd be interested seeing for this 'verse let me know! Expect the next update on Sunday!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like... pure fluff. The calm before the storm if you will.   
> Happy Sunday!

Surprisingly things calm down after that. At least Thorin thinks they do.

Despite the sudden and dramatic attention on Legolas and Gimli’s relationship the two still appear, for all intents and purposes, to be nothing more than very good friends. Even Thorin knowing the truth doesn’t give him any insights or hints at more, because the two are conducting themselves the same as always, at least to the knowledge of everyone around them.

The others all manage to keep their gossiping out of ears of those concerned, and as Thorin passes Glóinand Bofur speaking happily together in the hallway outside of their rooms he is put at ease that any insults from the night before have been settled.

He nods at them both but continues on to the throne room. This morning he has a large group of petitioners to see to and afterwards there are a few last-minute wedding details Dís and Kíli want to go over with him, not that Thorin he will be much help, before retreating to his office to do some more work. The family is hoping to spend the evening together and he is doing his best to carve out some time for him to join them.

His steps falter however when he catches sight of Bilbo coming down the hall towards him.

“Oh, Thorin!” The Hobbit’s brilliant smile catches him by surprise and makes his own lips stretch into a grin at the chance meeting. “Where are you off to so eagerly?”

“Eager is hardly the word I would use,” he grumbles but his smile remains fond. “I have a few hours to hear public grievances before getting back to my usual work. I was hoping to give myself the night off but unfortunately that means taking on quite a bit now if I don’t want to fall behind.”

Bilbo frowns and falls into step beside him, happily not slowing him down. “I remember you used to work all day after the Battle, but I thought after things settled down and Erebor was rebuilt you wouldn’t have so much to do?’

“I usually don’t,” he admits. “But with Kíli’s wedding so close by there are a lot of preparations that I need to be involved with one way or another. Once the wedding is over I should have far more time again.”

More time for his friends and family, of course, but also to do the things he misses; like walking through Erebor and speaking with his subjects, or playing the harp in the privacy of his rooms.

And perhaps if all goes well, he will have more time to spend with Bilbo.

As if thinking the same Bilbo speaks as they head down to the throne room. “Well I hope you enjoy your night off. I was going to see whether I could take up some of your time today but given that you’re so busy at the moment we’ll just have to find another chance.”

“Take up my time with what?’ Thorin asks keenly. Bilbo’s expression turns amused and Thorin works to restrain his eagerness. “I would gladly spend my evening with you Bilbo-”

“Oh! You don’t have to-”

“-but my family has already made me promise to join them later.”

“-do that for me.” Bilbo blushes bright before repeating. “Oh. Of course, I should have known that you’d be engaged already.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow at his choice of words but stops just outside his entrance to the throne room. The guards at the doors act as if they aren’t even there.

“You could join us in Kíli’s rooms if you like.” He asks Bilbo. “We’re eating together there.”

“Oh no, Thorin I wouldn’t- I don’t want to intrude.”

Thorin hopes he isn’t imaging the disappointment and reluctance in Bilbo’s face and words. “And you wouldn’t be.” He says simply. “Come Bilbo, you know my entire family loves you.”

The words make him start and stare up at Thorin, and the expression that comes over his face is enough to make Thorin need to look away. It’s too raw, that expression, too honest, and he knows he’s unworthy of being the one to inspire such happiness.

“We would all gladly have you there.” Thorin promises, looking back down into his eyes, searching his face and trying to find any hint of Bilbo giving in. “Me more than anyone.”

“I-” Bilbo snaps his mouth shut quickly. “If you’re sure the others won’t mind then I would love to.”

Thorin beams. “It’s settled then.”

“Okay.” Bilbo smiles shyly as well. “I did want to spend some time with you today.”

Thorin would ask why today particularly, but he knows not to push his luck, and he also doesn’t want to fall behind in his duties. “Then I will see you later.”

Bilbo nods and steps back. “Until later then.”

They both hesitate and they both notice it. They share a small smile before simultaneously turning away, Thorin towards the doors to the throne room and Bilbo back to walk the hall they just came from.

* * *

Later when he finally makes it to Kíli’s rooms he is the last to appear. His family are all seated in the eating room around the table, servants milling around here and there to pour drinks and set covered dishes on the dining surface amidst the set plates and cutlery.

“That will be all for a while, thank you.” Dís smiles at her son’s domestic servants and dismisses them just as Thorin walks through the door. “Ah, there you are! Perfect timing!”

Fíli is staring down at his empty plate with a completely red face, obviously holding back laughter. Kíli is not bothering and collapses onto the table while Tauriel is wiping tears streaming from her eyes.

Bilbo sits there with a huge smug grin on his face and Thorin can’t help but be suspicious.

“Do I even want to know?” He asks the Hobbit as he takes the empty seat at the other end of the table.

Bilbo and Kíli flank him, while Tauriel is beside Bilbo. Fíli is on the left side of his mother and nudges Kíli in the side to try and make his younger brother recollect himself while Dís looks on at them all indulgently.

“I think it’s best if you don’t.” Bilbo says between chuckles, obviously working to keep his bearings. Thorin suspects if he’d come in minutes before he would have found Bilbo in just as much of a state as the others.

“That is good enough for me. How was everyone’s day?”

Thankfully Dís is able to reply.

“If another Dwarf asks me about seating arrangements for this wedding I will throw them from this mountain and suffer the consequences.” She rubs at her temples and then smooths one hand down over her beard with a long-suffering sigh. “I always thought Men were slow but this…”

Tauriel frowns after recollecting herself. “I gave them the completed seating charts two months ago. What could they possible be arranging now?”

“There have been some who take offense at the fact that they are not invited. Dwarvish lords who believe themselves to be snubbed. And some concerns have been raised about the seating of the Elves and Humans, who gets priority and who doesn’t. And there is the fact of our family table at the meal…” Dís’ eyes flicker over to Bilbo for only a moment before resettling on Tauriel, but everyone has regained control of themselves to listen to her, and so they all notice. “Well. Petty squabbles and nothing more.”

Tauriel seems eager to take Dís’ lead and leave the subject. “We should discuss it later, but I agree, it sounds like nothing too serious.”

“What is the issue with your family table?” Bilbo’s brows are furrowed but he is watching Dís closely.

“Nothing, Bilbo, I assure you.” She smiles. “Or at least nothing that will not be quickly resolved.”

Thorin looks between them, as unsettled as Bilbo. He has not heard of any complaints about the seating for the wedding. “If there are diplomatic concerns perhaps Fíli or I should be involved.”

“Oh there’s no need to drag you both away from your duties.” Dís waves a hand. “Truthfully I should not even be bothering with it, but it seems the nobles need a firm hand to stop their nonsense.”

“Dís…”

“Oh, leave it brother. If anything comes of it I’ll be sure to tell you.” She rolls her eyes and glances at Bilbo. “You too, Master Baggins, there’s no need to concern yourselves over such silly grievances.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Bilbo still doesn’t look reassured and Thorin shares his uneasiness.

Dís is a good liar and a master at dealing with others, but Thorin knows her well enough to know when she is hiding something. From the look she is sharing with Tauriel the Elf knows at least a bit of what is going on.

However it is just a seating chart, and there are other matters more pressing to worry himself over. Thorin is happy to leave it and if it is truly concerning he will just have to trust somebody to come to him eventually.

“Very well.” He turns to his nephews. “What have the two of you been up to today?”

“I’ve been with Legolas most of the day,” Fíli says nonchalantly while spooning out steaming meat onto his plate. “He wanted to see the markets.”

The rest of them began to dig in as well as the conversation flows, with Kíli shovelling the food onto his plate like it will disappear, and Bilbo, though far more polite and restrained, ending up with mountains of food in front of him. The smells wafted from the uncovered dishes and make Thorin eager to begin.

He passes the steaming vegetables to Bilbo, wrinkling his nose at the smell as he does. The Hobbit smiles at him in thanks. Their hands brush and Thorin hopes the change in his heart rate isn’t given away by his expression.

Bilbo moves the vegetables along to Tauriel after dishing some, who accepts gratefully, and then surprisingly, it ends at Dís who hesitates only a moment before scooping a small pile onto her plate.

“What?” She asks him defensively when she catches sight of his astonished expression. “They’re not actually that bad you know.”

Fíli wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Ugh, Mum.”

“You could do a lot worse than eating these fine dishes, even if they aren’t meat and potatoes,” Dís scowls at her eldest before turning it full force onto Kíli. Her fork is pointed threateningly towards him. “And I won’t hear a word from you.”

His hands are already up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything! Tauriel’s made me try some of the stuff already and I’ll admit it’s not all bad.”

“It’s true.” The Elf shoots Kíli a fond smile. “He’s been very open to my food preferences. Far more than I have been to yours, I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ll ever develop a taste for meat.”

“Well that’s alright dear,” Dís nods at her supportively. All the while Thorin wonders what is happening to his family when Dís and Kíli could eat vegetables willingly and his sister can address a centuries year old Elf as _dear_. “Don’t let us bully you into anything.”

“You were just trying to do the very same to me!” Fíli splutters.

“They’re meant to be good for you.” Dís shoots back. “Excuse me if I just want my boys to live long and healthy lives.”

Thorin glances over at Bilbo who is eating quietly while watching them all. When he isn’t busy chewing there is a small wistful smile on his face and the sight of it makes Thorin’s chest ache.

He leans over to speak quietly to him. “If it gets too much I say we slip away. They’ll never notice if they’re all too busy bickering.”

Bilbo turns to look at him and laughs quietly. “As if you wouldn’t be in the middle of it all arguing just as loudly. No if anything, I would have to retreat with Tauriel, and leave you Durins to your madness I think.” His eyes twinkle with teasing.

Thorin adopts an insulted expression. “Is that the way of it then?”

“I dare say it is, Master Oakenshield.”

Thorin huffs playfully and backs off to cut his own strip of elk. “I see how it is. I am betrayed, and left alone to suffer.”

He freezes with the bit of meat halfway to his mouth as soon as the words escape, suddenly remembering the last time he had accused Bilbo of betrayal. Though this had all been said in teasing, it strikes a fragile chord between them, and he is forcefully brought back to a day when he had been mad with gold-sickness and holding Bilbo over the ramparts edge.

“Oh Thorin, if you don’t know by now I would never betray you, then I don’t think your intellect bodes well for this poor kingdom.” Bilbo’s voice is light, and he pauses for effect rather than because he is truly affected himself. “Though perhaps, in the case of your family, it should be everyone for themselves.”

It is an overwhelming rush of gratefulness that he feels for Bilbo then in that moment and he takes the bite off his fork as relief courses through him.

“To ever doubt you indeed shows a huge lack in judgement.”

“I quite agree.” Bilbo’s smile widens as their teasing settles back onto easier ground. He resumes eating easily. “Glad to see people are finally starting to see what I’ve been going around saying all this time.”

“We are of course fools to have not believed you. It must be difficult to be surrounded by such idiocy.”

“Quite a challenge but I just take pity on you all and suffer through it.”

Thorin laughs. “How valiant of you.”

“That’s me,” Bilbo agrees easily before bursting into laughter. “Oh goodness, anyone would think we were senile from how we’re talking. Rambling on about nothing.”

“Nothing? This is the most scintillating conversation I’ve had in ages. Quite intellectually challenging.”

Bilbo laughs again. “What was it I was saying a minute ago about your intelligence not boding well for this kingdom?”

“Is a king to be blamed for his kingdom’s failings?” Thorin raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “That hardly seems fair.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re right, who ever thought of accountability being effective?”

“Never heard of such a thing,” he says before reaching forward to take a drink. Perhaps the ale is rather strong tonight, he can’t remember ever losing his wits and reason so quickly before.

It is Kíli ’s quiet cough that makes him blink and remember he and Bilbo aren’t actually alone. Though Dís, Fíli and Tauriel seem to have given up on the pair of them, or just ignore them altogether, Kíli is watching them with amusement and, if Thorin isn’t mistaken, a hint of disbelief.

“Are you both drunk?” He asks, looking from Thorin to Bilbo and back again, and making Thorin hide a smile behind his goblet.

“Drunk? Never. I am a respectable Hobbit you know,” Bilbo sounds affronted, but his lips are twitching too much for him to truly be sincere.

“Mhmm, you act like I wasn’t there to see you that night in Lake-town before you all left for the Mountain.”

“That,” Bilbo points his finger at Kíli, “was nothing. I have no idea to what you could be referring.”

Thorin remembers that night well and tries to hide his laughter in his cup. When Bilbo swivels his head around to pin him with a glare it’s obvious that he doesn’t succeed, and he tries to defend himself. “Well…”

“Not a word.” Bilbo says. “Unless you’d like me to remind us all of what _you_ were doing that night.”

Thorin actually fumbles his cup at the challenge, caught off guard at the reminder. Thankfully it is empty, the ale drunk up, and it falling against the table does no harm except for drawing the others’ attention.

There are a few things that Bilbo could be referring to, but Thorin cannot help if his mind flashes to the memory of Bilbo sneaking into his room at Lake-town and the two of them getting carried away, even though Balin’s warning words had still been ringing in his ears. _If he is your One then I can see no objections. But you must be sure_.

Fíli looks disgusted, his mind obviously going down the same road as Thorin’s- and isn’t that unpleasant to think of, his nephew should never even _consider_ such things- but Kíli only laughs. “Oh yes, Uncle, you were quite a sight!”

Fíli and Dís’ frowns are identical as she asks. “What is this?”

“At Lake-town, the night the men discovered we were there and threw us a feast to welcome us.” Kíli sounds absolutely gleeful. “I wasn’t feeling well and so I didn’t drink, but the rest of them,” he surveys Fíli, Thorin and Bilbo wickedly, “didn’t feel the need to restrain themselves.”

Tauriel looks at her fiancée with a sharp grin. “Careful, my love, or your uncle will throw you in Erebor’s cells for such talk.”

“Or worse.” He intones but nobody takes any notice of him.

“You remember it then, Kíli.” Bilbo says cheerfully.

“I’m surprised you do Bilbo, though you did say Hobbits handle their drink better than most.”

The words make Bilbo preen and Thorin snorts, which then makes the Hobbit glare and earns him a kick under the table- though to be fair Bilbo’s toes barely skim his knee since they are sitting far enough away from one another, which only makes the him glare more.

Kíli ignores their antics, though Dís glances at them before pulling her attention back to her youngest. “But you, Uncle, I’ve never seen you so lost in your cups.”

Thorin speaks stiffly. He is resigned to the fact that he isn’t escaping his nephew’s words. “We were so near to finishing our quest and had much to celebrate.”

“Oh yes,” Kíli turns solemn as he nods. “Table dancing was definitely the appropriate celebration.”

“Table dancing?” Dís asks incredulously at the same time Fíli yells at his brother, looking indignant.

“You never told me any of this!”

Bilbo is laughing so hard he is hunched over and Thorin moves to pull his plate of food away to try and help the Hobbit avoid getting any in his hair before realizing it has been wiped clean without him noticing. He still moves it a few inches away from where Bilbo is cradling his stomach and shaking.

Tauriel is biting her lip but Thorin notices her face twitching quite crazily and rolls his eyes.

“Oh go on.” He says to her and she begins laughing out of her nose before joining Bilbo in full body humor.

“Table dancing?” Dís repeats and Thorin scowls. Having his little sister judge his drunken antics is not exactly what he had been hoping for tonight.

“Not like you’re picturing,” he says tightly and Dís’ eyes widen.

“And what, dear brother, should I be picturing?”

Bilbo finally regains his breath. All the while Kíli is looking on in gleeful victory while Fíli frowns in concentration, obviously trying to remember a night the drink has erased from his memory.

Thorin grit his teeth and pours himself some more ale.

“He- he was-” Bilbo gasps.

“It was just dancing,” Thorin rolls his eyes. “You’re all making it out to be far worse.”

“Yes but it was you!” Kíli says. “Throwing your hands up in the air and twirling around…” Now he starts laughing too, setting Bilbo off all over again.

“And you wonder why I hate dancing at all,” he grumbles.

“Aww, Uncle don’t be like that!” Fíli says.

“Yes brother, perhaps you should get up and do it again now.”

“Not a chance. You couldn’t pay me.” Never again.

Or at least, not in front of Dís. Anybody else. Except perhaps Thranduil.

“At the wedding,” Bilbo leans forward to say intently to Kíli before turning to do the same to Tauriel. “Get him drunk at your wedding. Then you’ll see.”

“What did I just say?” Thorin says to nobody, wondering why he even bothers when they are lost in their humour.

“Oh, but you’re such a wonderful dancer brother,” Dís says and the words aren’t entirely teasing. “You’ll have to dance at their wedding.”

“Yeah! You were still pretty good, even though you were lost in the ale, Uncle.” Kíli says kindly, eyes twinkling.

Bilbo hiccups. “It’s true, if I wasn’t won over by you already I-”

He cuts off abruptly, his humour dying away. Tauriel looks down, taking another bite of her food, and Dís cocks her head a bit, watching the Hobbit visibly bite his tongue and look like an animal facing down an arrow. Kíli and Fíli shift in their seats, which makes Thorin wonder if this is the first time Bilbo has ever acknowledged their relationship outright in front of them. Even back after reclaiming Erebor they had tried to keep it as hidden as possible from everybody, too focused on dealing with other matters.

“Erm. Well. Anybody would have been charmed by it.” Bilbo finishes lamely and appears to resolutely refuse to look in Thorin’s direction.

This time Thorin rescues him from his awkwardness.

“Thank you for that, but I see what you’re doing, trying to convince me by giving out compliments. It will not work, as I can promise you I will not be dancing at the wedding.” He meets Kíli’s disappointed face and relents slightly. “At least not like _that_.”

Tauriel smiles brightly and helps get the conversation back on track. “As long as you dance a little. Everybody should have fun at a wedding. Without feeling like they’re being judged.”

She glares warningly at Kíli and Fíli as she finishes. None of them are fooled by their innocent expressions.

“Who us?”

“Judge Uncle?”

“Never.” They say in unison and Thorin rolls his eyes and makes eye contact with his sister while jerking his head at them.

“It’s you they take after, not Víli.”

“Oh hush you. As if you weren’t as bad.” She retorts but makes no attempt to deny it and Bilbo catches his eye and grins, obviously noticing it too.

Though Bilbo has cleared his plate the rest of them haven’t worked so quickly, and so Thorin makes an effort of doing it now. Bilbo reaches for more, making Tauriel’s eyebrows rise in surprise, and by the time they’ve all finished their first serving Bilbo is nearly done his second.

Thorin had always thought Dwarves ate a lot before he saw how much Bilbo could put away when he tried. It had made him guilty back when he had realized at Beorn’s cabin. He’d always thought Bilbo’s complaints about their lack of food on the quest before that was childish whining. It had only been after Bilbo finally ate his fill at Beorn’s that Thorin realized Bilbo just needed more food than the rest of them.

The others had been cowed by the knowledge as well, and Thorin had noticed them all taking a new vested interest in the differences between Hobbits and Dwarves after that. And then making sure Bilbo got the biggest portions at meals whenever possible, though sadly it still hadn’t been enough to feed them all their usual portion sizes.

Finally they are all finished, their drinks refilled and Thorin wonders if they aren’t all a bit drunk without realizing it. The servants have wisely left several full jugs in the room, and by the time Dís suggests moving over to the sitting space, they’ve made their way through nearly three of them.

Dís sits with Tauriel and Kíli on the sofa, kindly ignoring their small displays of affection that would usually earn them raised eyebrows if they weren’t just around family. Kíli’s head rests on Tauriel’s shoulder and she keeps turning to press kisses into his hair while he plays with her fingers in his lap.

Fíli is in an armchair facing them, the fire casting a sharp red glow on his cheek. He meets Thorin’s eyes and grins happily, peaceful, warm and full.

Thorin had hesitated only a moment before taking the love seat available, ignoring the second armchair. And it had been a pleasant surprise when Bilbo opted to do the same and sit beside him, though he carefully keeps a small bit of space between them.

They fall into discussing the wedding a bit more, and then Legolas and Gimli.

“You said Legolas seemed happy enough today, Fíli.” Dis asks pleasantly.

“Seemed it.” Thorin’s heir shrugs. “Kíli stayed with him later than I did.”

“I thought you went to Dale today?” Thorin asks his younger nephew.

“I did, but Bard didn’t have time to see me and they’re preparing for some Human festival or other so almost everything was closed or busy. I came home early.”

“A festival?”

“The summer equinox.” Bilbo says softly, legs dangling a bit in the air.

Thorin blinks. With everything going on with the wedding he has forgotten the equinox. Dwarves know of it but don’t celebrate it as other races do. Given that the others all live above ground and work more closely with nature he supposes they would pay more attention to the seasons change.

With a sudden thought he turns to Bilbo “Do you want it celebrated here? Should we do something?”

Bilbo blinks in surprise. “Oh. No, that’s alright Thorin, I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

Bilbo nods and smiles hesitantly. “I’m not sure what the Elves do,” he glances at Tauriel quickly. “But Hobbits usually just have a communal potluck or picnic. Some even have vegetables ready by then, if they plant early. I couldn’t really do that here, and I don’t have a garden anyway.” His smile is kind. “Maybe if I have some free time I’ll go to Dale and celebrate there a bit, but it’s not a hugely important day to miss.”

Thorin frowns. He hadn’t even thought, and with the equinox only a few days away he isn’t likely going to be able to do anything special for Bilbo.

He should have thought of it, he curses himself. Is this his pitiful attempt at courting Bilbo once again? How is Bilbo ever supposed to think that he’s changed if he doesn’t prove Bilbo is his highest priority?

Feeling Dís’ stare he looks up to see her smirking in amusement. With a scowl, he hopes he isn’t blushing, and turns to Tauriel to try and hide his slip.

“And you Tauriel? Would you like any special preparations made?”

“No, thank you.” Her reply is soft and just as knowing as his sister, though far kinder. “I was only planning on going outside that evening. To see the night sky,” she clarifies at Thorin, Dís and Fíli frowning. Kíli beams for some inexplicable reason. “Though Bilbo, if you go to Dale, I would like to accompany you, if possible.”

“That sounds lovely.” Bilbo shares a smile with her and Thorin frowns again, wondering if anything can be done instead.

“It’s nothing.” Bilbo places his hand on Thorin’s arm, snapping him out of his thoughts. Their eyes meet and Bilbo looks earnest. “Really.”

He nods, but he is still unhappy. Rather than dwell on it anymore now he puts it to the back of his mind to consider later. There has to be something. Perhaps Gandalf can whip up some kind of celebration…

Bilbo’s hand falls away but he shifts beside Thorin, putting them a bit closer to one another. “I wonder what the Men will do.”

“Dancing, I hope.” Dís grins and Thorin rolls his eyes while Fíli snorts.

“I think they do have dances. But they have eating and music contests as well.” Fíli says. “Or at least that’s what Sigrid told me.”

“Sigrid?”

“Bard’s daughter.” Thorin and Tauriel answer Dís together.

“Ah, right.” She nods and loses interest, gazing into the fire.

A few seconds pass in near silence, the only noise the sound of the servants quietly cleaning the dining table and the crack and pop of the grated fire in front of them. Tauriel breaks the lull.

“Music contests would be interesting to see, I think.” Her gaze drifts over to Kíli. “We could dance together.”

“To the music of Men?” Kíli wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t think it would be so bad.” Tauriel laughs and shifts a bit, her soft green tunic making no noise against the sofa. “If I can handle your Dwarven songs surely you can handle the Humans. I do not think it is so very different from your own.”

“Ugh,” Fíli makes a face “Do you have to insult us so deeply, Tauriel?”

She gazes at them all in bemusement. Thorin rolls his eyes and looks back into the fire. “Does it really offend you to hear it?”

“The Men don’t play the worst songs, I grant you,” Dís says easily. “But they are nothing like ours.”

“Your instruments are quite similar. Fiddles and drums.”

“Maybe, if they had any idea how to play them.” Kíli waves a hand. “I’ve heard worse, but I would still choose Dwarven music every time.”

“Worse?” Tauriel cocks her head but her eyes glint knowingly. “Whose music is worse than that of the Men?”

“Erm…”

“Elvish music, obviously.” Fíli says, picking at his fingernails before looking up sharply, eyes wide. “Um.”

Her lips twitch. “I would argue but it is obvious you have no taste at all. Do you all feel so?”

Dís shrugs. “It is quite slow. Hardly something you could work along to, or have fun with.”

“Music can also be made to soothe troubled emotions, Lady Dís,” Tauriel replies and turns past Kíli to Thorin and Bilbo. “You feel the same, I can see it, but what of you two? Surely you see the beauty in our music, Bilbo?”

“Though the others in this room might have me thrown out for it, I did like what we heard in Rivendell very much.” He says bravely before glancing over. “Thorin?”

He groans and meets Bilbo’s eye. “Must I? You already know my answer.”

Bilbo smiles a bit and ducks his head. “Poor Tauriel needs at least one Dwarf ally.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “I don’t hate Elvish music.”

“Brother!”

“Uncle!”

“What?” He asks back with a raised eyebrow. “Have you forgotten that I play the harp myself? Though far better than any of them, I must say.”

Tauriel laughs. “Of course.”

“Perhaps we have forgotten, it’s been so long since we’ve heard you.” Dís shoots back though she does seem a bit sheepish for having insulted the string music of the Elves so harshly.

“Oh, would you play the harp for us? I haven’t heard you play at all since I’ve been back.” Bilbo breaks in softly, meeting Thorin’s eyes.

The intake of breath in the room is audible and Thorin looks down at the Hobbit warmly, seeing his confusion as he feels the change in the air.

Thorin ignores them all and makes up his mind after only a beat of hesitation. “Alright. One moment.”

He gets up, ignoring the looks from his family, to go to the dining table and speak to the servant clearing the food. “Would you ask Caan to grab my harp from my rooms, please?”

“Yes sire,” she dips her head and turns away, dishes balanced impressively in her hands as she slips out.

He goes back to his family, resuming his vacated seat, and meets their shocked looks blankly. “It will take a moment to get here.”

“No rush.” Bilbo seems to be trying to fill the quiet. “Have we stunned your family into silence?”

“It appears so.”

“A miracle.” Bilbo grins playfully at the brothers. “I never thought I’d see the day you two weren’t moving your mouths.”

“Bilbo!” Kíli exclaims while Fíli looks wounded. “You know I expect it from Mum, I expect it from Uncle, but never you, Bilbo. Never you.”

Fíli nods emphatically in agreement. “You think you know a person.”

“I suspect Bilbo’s tongue can be sharper than anyone else’s here.” Thorin says. “Be glad he’s too polite to use it often or we’d all be left standing shocked with our mouths open catching flies.”

A cleared throat makes them all glance over to see Caan and the servant girl from before back and holding Thorin’s harp. “Where would you like it, sire?”

“Ah, there please,” he nods over to an empty space and stands, pulling out one of the simple wooden chairs of the dining area to drag it over beside the harp. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“Yes, sire.” Caan and the Dwarrowdam duck their heads before disappearing once more.

Thorin runs his hand over the neck of the harp slowly, feeling it beneath his hands again. Despite what the others know, he has played it in the past few years, though it has been rare and usually not for very long. He plucks a few strings, frowning and muttering to himself without realizing as he tunes it properly. Plucking the few strings again he smiles mutedly in satisfaction and moves it to be properly angled between his legs, the gold glinting against the shadows cast by the fire.

It had been the only significant piece of gold he kept nearby after Smaug. Despite the danger, this harp had been his mother’s, and he is loathe to give it up, especially because of his own weakness. This is one bit of gold he is allowed to covet, not because of its worth in money, but rather its worth in memory.

Finally he looks up from tracing the engraved Dwarven runes to meet the attention of his audience. Most of them watch back eagerly, or with bated breath. Tauriel looks anticipatory and Thorin realizes she has never heard him play before.

It isn’t hard to let his gaze settle on Bilbo who seems just as fixed on him as the others, just as intensely.

“What do you want me to play?”

“You know.”

He frowns. “Which of the two?”

Bilbo had two favourites, and while Thorin is willing to play one in front of his family, he refuses to do the other where they can see or hear. It is deeply personal, an old love song that Thorin suspects has been translated into Westron from Elvish because it seems more their style than any other. He has not sung it aloud for over three years, though he has played the melody once in a while.

Something flickers over Bilbo’s face before he shakes his head slightly. “The first one.”

Good. That one, Thorin will do.

He plucks the strings slowly, starting deep and, and humming low. He doesn’t look up, but he hears both of his nephews make sounds of recognition and Dís let out a slow breath.

“Far over, the Misty Mountains call…”

His family join in, just as Thorin knew they would. They cannot help it, the four of them have sung this song since the boys were born, and he and Dís have known it for longer than that.

He does not know what it is about this song that Bilbo loves so much, but the Hobbit had asked for it almost every time Thorin had played after they’d reclaimed Erebor. At least now he can sing it without it hurting so much, though the memories and grief are never forgotten entirely.

It is over quickly, barely a couple of minutes, but when he looks up again Bilbo is staring resolutely down at his lap, his fingers twisting together in that nervous habit he has.

Thorin swallows and looks at Kíli and Tauriel. His nephew is beaming but the look on Tauriel’s face is something else, wide-eyed and frozen with something.

At Thorin’s look she tries to smile. “That was very beautiful.”

He inclines his head, looking at Fíli who nods, and then Dís who is watching Bilbo closely.

Ah, his sister. She sees too much for her own good sometimes. But if even Thorin doesn’t know Bilbo’s connection to that song then he doubts his sister has a chance of finding out. Though perhaps he shouldn’t speak so quickly; he has underestimated his sister before.

“Any other requests?” He asks them all this time, sparing Bilbo the need to look up when he obviously needs a bit of time for himself.

Dís asks for a lullaby he had used to play for her and then the boys when they were young, which he happily does. By the end of it Bilbo seems fine again, for which Thorin is glad. Fíli and Kíli keep him busy with different suggestions for a while until his fingers grow cramped and he pauses for a break.

“Tauriel knows the harp a bit.” Kíli says.

They all turn to her and she dips her head a bit. “Barely. Nowhere near that level. I only ever learned the basics.”

Thorin makes a quick decision. “If you want I can teach you.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

He nods once.

She looks around before seeming to lean back a bit. “I don’t know if I-”

“Oh, let him teach you, Tauriel, it will give him an excuse to play more.” Dís breaks in. “And he’ll never offer again.”

“I should warn you I can be a strict teacher.”

“Please.” Kíli waves his words away. “You were nice as anything when I was learning the bow.”

“ **I** was not teaching you.”

“That’s true,” Fíli reminisces. “Remember when he taught us swords, Kíli?” They both winces. “Somehow that isn’t the loudest I’ve heard you yell in your life.”

Thorin scowls. He doesn’t yell that much.

“That was a matter of preparing you for your own safety. For situations of life and death. I would hardly be so demanding with this.”

“You were the one who said you were an awful teacher!” Kíli defends.

“I said strict, not awful!”

Bilbo is smiling widely when he speaks. “He’ll be fine, Tauriel. He and Dwalin taught me a bit of sword work and I can still stand to be around him, so that should prove he isn’t so bad.”

“Thank you.” Thorin nods before fully taking in the words. “I think.”

Bilbo’s smile is directed towards him and Thorin feels himself returning it helplessly, teasing be damned.

“Well alright. I would like that very much, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Thorin cocks his head. “We’ll need to get you a harp. Elvish make, probably. And I don’t know how much time I’ll have so the process might be slow.”

She smiles kindly. “I look forward to it.”

He nods, trying to ignore what he has just signed himself up for. The look of absolute joy on Kíli’s face and the dumbstruck look on Fíli’s make it worth it though.

“And we’ll have to put up with these four critiquing us if they ever choose to sit in.”

“I’ll be here for every session,” Kíli vows while Fíli nods.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“I will do my best to attend,” Dís says. “It will give me time to get some work done. You too boys, don’t think you’ll be sitting nattering away without being productive.”

“Encouragement is productive!’

“Yeah, and everyone needs some free time in their day, Mum.” Fíli replies. “Bilbo agrees with us, right Bilbo? You won’t be working every time they practice, will you?”

The Hobbit looks a bit sad and he only glances at Thorin quickly as he replies to Fíli. “Well I don’t know how many practices you’ll get to do before I leave. But I suspect I’ll just be happy to enjoy my time with you all.”

Their good humour falls away immediately and Thorin pulls his hands onto his lap, trying to hide his clenched fists. It isn’t news, that Bilbo is only staying for the month, and he shouldn’t have been so upset to be reminded of it.

When Bilbo nervously meets his eye Thorin tries to look reassuring, or at least neutral, rather than let his disappointment show. With Bilbo accepting his courtship he’d thought that might mean the Hobbit planned to stay for longer than just the wedding. However, Bilbo has never made any mention of that, and Thorin has never asked, too scared to face the crushed hopes he now has, and so it is his own fault for assuming.

“But-”

Dís elbows Kíli hard and makes him go quiet, rubbing his side. His family all look over at him, obviously waiting to hear what he will say.

“Well then.” He turns to Tauriel to relieve some of the attention from the Hobbit. “We must find you a harp quickly.”

Tauriel nods and then leans down to listen to something Kíli whispers in her ear.

When Thorin glances back at Bilbo he is rewarded with a thankful smile.

Thorin just hopes his own smile in return isn’t as sad as he feels.

* * *

It is late when their group disperses. Thorin is first to stand, signalling his departure, but he has hopes that Bilbo will follow so they can spend some time alone together.

“Well I would stay…”

“But you have a kingdom to run and an early morning tomorrow?” Dís finishes his sentence for him.

“There is that.” He agrees.

“Thank you for finding the time for tonight.” Tauriel says.

“Yeah, it was nice to have a meal together.” Kíli yawns. “And to hear you play again.”

Thorin glances over at the harp. “I’ll ask someone to get it right away.”

“There’s no rush.” Fíli says, despite the fact they are in Kíli and Tauriel’s rooms.

“I’ll ask someone tonight,” he repeats, looking around at them all. “Until tomorrow then.”

“I think I’ll go too.” Bilbo slips off the loveseat to stand and smile kindly at them all. “Thank you for letting me join you all, I had a lovely time.”

“Aww, Bilbo, do you have to go?” Kíli asks.

“I’m rather tired, Kíli.”

“Fine.” His youngest nephew yawns again. “I guess I can forgive you this time.”

“Good to know who the favourite is,” Thorin grumbles to himself, but Fíli and Kíli don’t seem to hear him. Tauriel, Bilbo and Dís however all shoot him amused looks and smiles.

“Good night then.” He says, trying to hurry along his exit- honestly, they’re going to see each other again tomorrow, likely first thing, he doesn’t know why he’s lingering- and begins to move towards the door.

“Night Uncle!”

“Good night.”

“See you later Bilbo.”

“Goodbye boys!” Dís calls, but by then Bilbo is ducking under Thorin’s outstretched arm that holds open the door, so neither of them have to face her knowing looks and tone any longer.

The door closes behind them, leaving the hallway quiet except for some distant footfalls and the near silent breathing of the guards dotting half of the living quarters.

Thorin glances over at Bilbo. “Are you really tired?”

“I am.” Bilbo looks up. “Though not too tired for a nightcap first.”

Thorin tries to hide his smile. “Come back to mine?”

“Well alright then. If you’re offering.”

They walk across the corridor to Thorin’s closed door and he stops to speak to one of the guards on duty. “Please find someone to bring the harp from my nephew’s chambers back to mine.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Thank you. Come on, Bilbo.”

They go in and Bilbo looks at him appraisingly. “You easily could have brought the harp back, you know. I’m sure one of the boys would have helped you if the two of us couldn’t have managed it.”

Thorin blinks. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “I suppose we could have.”

Bilbo nods quietly as they move into Thorin’s kitchenette. He can’t make much here, but he can manage tea as he fills a kettle to hang it over the blazing fire.

“I’ve noticed that about you since I’ve come back. You’re used to the servants again.”

Thorin straightens up and leans back against the cupboards and drawers to meet his gaze. He doesn’t know if Bilbo is upset or amused by his observation. “They’ve been back so long now it just… happened.”

Again Bilbo nods. “When I left there weren’t even enough Dwarves here to have constant servants like tonight.”

“No.” Now Thorin speaks softly, knowing he isn’t being insulted, rather just the object of Bilbo’s findings. “Much has changed.”

“Yes,” the Hobbit’s eyes are distant, staring into the fire. “So much is different now.”

He seems to lose himself in his thoughts but Thorin can’t help but clear his throat. “Bilbo.”

“Yes?”

“Earlier. About you- what you said about you leaving after the wedding.”

He stops and Bilbo waits patiently. When Thorin struggles to find the words to say anything else the Hobbit presses him. “Yes?”

“Have- would you consider changing your mind? About leaving?”

Bilbo’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. If someone asked me to.”

He blinks. Can it be that easy? “Really?”

“Technically I never even had your permission to come and stay in the first place,” Bilbo points out, making Thorin wince. When their eyes meet again though he looks soft and expectant. “Ask me, Thorin.”

“Bilbo.” His name is hushed. “Stay.”

The expression across the Hobbit’s face is a mixture of regret and hope. “For how long?”

And it is then, faced with the look on Bilbo’s face, that Thorin loses his nerve.

 _Forever_ , his heart and mind scream at him.

But instead what comes from his mouth is, “at least until the end of our courtship. Whatever your answer may be.”

It is an indefinite answer and Thorin does not relish it or feel particularly satisfied with himself for giving it. Their courtship, as unusual as it is, will be over whenever Bilbo gives him an answer. That could be in ten months or it could be tomorrow for all Thorin knows.

Bilbo knows it too but if he feels any disappointment it is hidden well. Instead he only nods calmly. “Alright.”

So it is not elation or triumph that Thorin feels, but rather that he has wasted an opportunity with his cowardice. “Thank you.”

Bilbo smiles. “I would not have left without at least giving you an answer first.”

“I know.” And he does. That is not Bilbo’s way. “But thank you all the same.”

Thankfully they are interrupted by two things then. The kettle whistles and Thorin turns to deal with that while there is a knock on the door and Bilbo, after glancing at Thorin for permission, goes to answer it.

“Oh yes, right this way please. I think it goes in the far corner of his bedroom. Yes, just go right on in, here I’ll get the door.”

Bilbo’s voice fades away slightly on the other side of the wall separating the greeting room from the parlour and the kitchenette to get to the bedroom. Thorin busies himself making the tea before he quickly finishes and then goes over to help the others.

It is Caan and a Dwarrow he doesn’t recognize lifting the harp back in and Bilbo had been right in telling them where to put it.

“Thank you,” he says as they come back out and he leads them to the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too, sire,” they both reply, bowing slightly before leaving as quickly as they’d come.

When he turns back around Bilbo is there handing him the larger cup of tea. Though the Hobbit says nothing about the tea cup made to fit someone obviously smaller than a Dwarf, Thorin is not foolish enough to think that perhaps Bilbo hasn’t noticed.

In silent agreement they walk over to the two armchairs in Thorin’s living room, taking in the warmth from its fire as they face one another. After a few moments Thorin cannot stand it any longer.

“Do not take this as a sign of unhappiness from me, because I am far from it, but why did you want to see me today?” Thorin asks him.

Bilbo shrugs but he avoids Thorin’s eyes. “I missed you.”

“You did?” Surprise is evident in his voice.

“Yes.” He looks up as if to check Thorin isn’t gloating. “So much has been going on, and while I didn’t want to bother you, there was also no one else I would rather speak about it all with.” He taps the rim of his cup. “I suppose I just wanted some company.”

“My company.”

“A very specific, unnamed person’s company, yes.” Bilbo shoots him a look. “Don’t tease.”

“You’re right I’m sorry.” Thorin can’t help how happy the words made him though. “I just… I’m glad to hear it.” He works up some nerve. Bilbo has been honest with him, he can be honest back. “I missed you too, you know.”

Bilbo hides his smile behind his cup. “I hoped so. But it’s nice to hear it.”

“You need never doubt that.” He replies and then takes a sip of tea to stop his blabbering tongue.

Luckily the Hobbit doesn’t seem to mind.

“So.” Thorin puts his cup down on his knee. “What shall we talk about.”

“Well,” Bilbo glances around as if expecting others to pop up. “I know we spoke briefly yesterday, but I wanted to know…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About Legolas and Gimli?”

“Ah.” Thorin smiles widely. “You want to gossip.”

“No!” Bilbo looks insulted before frowning. “Well. Maybe a bit. But only with you. I would never talk about it with anyone else, unless they brought it up first.”

Thorin grins. “Some things don’t change.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Implying? Was I implying anything? I rather think I called you a gossip.”

“Well,” Bilbo splutters. “I never.”

“Fine, we can pretend you’re not a gossip for now.” Thorin ignores the affronted noise that answers him. “Legolas and Gimli… It surprises even me, but I find myself supporting them.”

“Really?” Bilbo tucks his feet up.

“Yes.” He purses his lips. “It would be a sad thing for the judgement of others to keep them apart.”

“It would,” Bilbo agrees softly. “We have more knowledge in that area than most.”

“We do.” Their eyes meet. “What did you tell Legolas?”

Bilbo is quiet for a few seconds. “I told him that before he did anything rash he should speak to Gimli and try and sort it out.” He takes a quick sip. “I wouldn’t want them to fall out because they didn’t explain the truth to each other.”

“Ah.” Thorin looks away and speaks quietly, but nods to show he’s heard, taking another drink and finishing his tea.

“What did you say to him?”

“Me?” He asks, still staring away from Bilbo, partially lost in memories. “I told him not to make the same mistakes I did. To not give up, because he would regret cutting Gimli out of his life.”

“And did he listen?” Bilbo asks haltingly. “Will he avoid repeating the past?”

Now he looks back, his eyes meeting Bilbo’s hazel ones. The weight behind them is heavy with a question and Thorin knows they aren’t only talking about Legolas anymore.

“He listened. He won’t be foolish enough to repeat those mistakes.” He pauses. “I only hope he will be believed.”

Bilbo takes a slow drink and Thorin hears the empty cup clink as it is put back on the saucer. “They will probably need more time… but so far there’s no reason he won’t be.”

“Good,” he says, because he can say nothing else.

It is a few seconds later when Bilbo stands abruptly. “I should go.”

“Oh. Yes. It’s late.”

He tries not to feel wrongfooted as he walks Bilbo to his door. They both pause together before opening it, their eyes holding, the air between them heavy with the things said and unsaid.

Bilbo’s lips part and Thorin can’t help it. His eyes fall to watch them, and he steps forward.

“Thorin,” Bilbo moves forward too, snapping Thorin out of his haze, before stopping abruptly.

With a sigh the Hobbit’s shoulders fall slightly.

“Damn you,” he whispers, making Thorin frown in confusion before Bilbo slips his pinky around Thorin’s own and squeezes lightly. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Thorin says hollowly, but Bilbo has already opened the door and is slipping out, not waiting for a response.

He stands there for a few moments longer, aching for the kiss Bilbo had almost given him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hands you this and runs away*
> 
> Âzyungel – love of loves  
> khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl- Horse-riding tree-dweller

Thorin is woken up by Nori roughly shaking his shoulder and saying the most terrifying words he has ever heard.

“Thorin, wake up- get up you blasted Dwarf, it’s Bilbo!”

Instantly his eyes fly open and he restrains his impulse to fight back against the intruder in his room. Instead he’s frozen as his mind registers the words about Bilbo, and he sits up to see Nori already pulling away to move towards his wardrobe. He absent-mindedly catches the clothes the Dwarf throws at him.

“What’s happened?”

Panic makes him move towards the door after quickly pulling on the shirt and grabbing his sheathed sword. The chill of the night air doesn’t even register until Nori grabs his wrist painfully and swings him back around to a halt.

Thorin always forgets how strong the ‘Ri brothers are, and though it is forgivable in his current state of mind, he is forcefully reminded when Nori holds him in place with one hand.

“Let go of me.”

Thorin’s warning makes Nori lick his lips and he’s surprised to see a flicker of unease on the thief’s face, but it’s gone quickly. “You can’t go out like this.”

It is only then that Thorin realizes he’s naked apart from the shirt.

“Give me the clothes.” He orders but Nori is already handing them to him. Dark trousers and boots to go with his white shirt, and Thorin is glad that’s all he’s given because anything more would be a waste of time.

Before he slips on the trousers he speaks again. “Tell me what’s going on. Is Bilbo-”

“You need to hurry,” Nori speaks quickly, already moving to open the door, waiting as Thorin pulls on his last boot and then leading him through his rooms. Thorin feels his panic spike as they go.

“His guard came to Dwalin saying somebody was in his room. She said Bilbo had him at sword point and ordered her to come get Dwalin but-”

“She left him there alone?” Thorin thunders, rushing past Nori out into the hallway.

His guards jump to attention, and Thorin wastes no time giving them orders as he strides so quickly they jog to keep up.

“Lila walk with me. Foko wake Óin and bring him to Bilbo’s rooms.” He hesitates. “Get Balin too.”

“Come on.” Nori hisses, already opening Bilbo’s door and Thorin goes inside, barely registering when Foko leaves them to slip away and Lila moves to enter the room ahead of him and take in any possible threats.

The sight that meets him is far calmer than he expects.

Dwalin and Dido have a Dwarf backed against the wall, and Dwalin is slowly searching and stripping him of weapons. The stranger doesn’t look nervous or scared in the least, only bored, and that only changes when everyone except Dwalin’s attention turns to the three of them bursting through the door.

“Nori?” The would-be assassin asks incredulously, and Thorin hears Nori make a choked sound behind him as they move forward.

“Alto?”

Any other instance and Thorin would stop and get to the bottom of whatever was going on there, but not now. Now his attention quickly moves from Dwalin, Dido and the criminal, to where his eyes stop to rest on Bilbo. Bilbo who has his bathrobe on and tied tightly, who looks pale and tired, and is hovering beside the couch in his own sitting room while currently looking after the unconscious Dwarf lying on it.

His guard. Thorin’s stomach twists. That’s right. Dido hadn’t been on shift to guard Bilbo tonight, it had been Feri.

Ignoring the others who have congregated to speak amongst themselves, Thorin doesn’t stop until he reaches Bilbo, and even then it is only to pull him close and hug him to his chest with no chance of anything ever breaking the grip. It takes him a few seconds to realize his hands are running frantically over the Hobbit, searching for a sign of a blade, a bruise, even the puncture wound of a dart.

“Are you alright?” He asks urgently, arms tightening a fraction more when he realizes Bilbo is shaking. “ _Âzyungel_ did he hurt you?”

“Thorin.” Bilbo sounds dazed. “Thorin, thank Yavanna. I was worried when I realized what was going on that-”

“Bilbo.”

He pulls away only enough so that he can look down and their eyes meet. The Halfing’s are wide and shining and slightly lost. Thorin is ready to answer any questions he can, and find out the answers to the rest, as soon as he knows that Bilbo is okay.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Bilbo says so quietly it’s almost a whisper. Thorin sees him swallow as their gazes continues to hold. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Thank Mahal.” Thorin breathes and then hauls Bilbo back to his chest, resting his head on the top of Bilbo’s as his eyes fall closed. “Oh, thank all of the gods.”

Something in his chest releases and he finally takes a deep breath and lets it out when he feels Bilbo squeeze him around the middle.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Thorin blinks his eyes in surprise.

They pull back to stare at each other again and Thorin realizes Bilbo is still shaking, only now he is haphazardly patting _Thorin’s_ chest and back in a weak imitation of what Thorin had been doing only seconds ago.

For an absurd moment he wonders if Bilbo is mistaken and the Hobbit has suffered a blow to the head. Or perhaps the shock has made him forgetful and confused, which is something Thorin has seen in the aftermath of battles and violence before.

“Bilbo.” He says quietly with his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders as he stays as close as possible to talk. His fingers dig in perhaps a bit too hard, and though Bilbo doesn’t seem to notice, Thorin makes an effort to ease the pressure. “It is you who has been attacked. Not I.”

“Oh good.” Bilbo’s eyes close and he lets out a long and relieved breath. His right hand crosses to rest on top of the one Thorin has resting on his left shoulder, and as he takes another breath, Thorin is happy to note the shaking stop. “I thought- when I realized what was happening, that there were assassination attempts… I was worried about you.”

Ah. Maybe another Dwarf in Thorin’s situation would be happier with the knowledge, but Thorin only feels his heart clench.

“No Bilbo.”

Óin had told him once that using people’s names after a traumatising event was a good thing to do, though for the life of him, he can’t remember why in that moment. To ground and settle them perhaps?

“You are the only one who has been attacked.”

He hopes anyway. The others of the Company all sleep in family quarters, so any attack will surely have been stopped and reported already, and if any other nobles had been threatened he is fairly sure he would have heard about it by now.

Even so, he should send a patrol through the upper levels of Erebor, and he glances over to Lila and jerks his head to the door. Thankfully she understands and nods, mouth grim, before slipping away quickly.

“Good.” Bilbo repeats, and Thorin’s hands clench slightly again as he turns back because no, nothing about this is _good_. “And I would hardly use the word attacked. Startled is the best word for it, probably.”

His brows furrow in confusion and finally Thorin’s frustration returns enough to put aside comfort for a moment. “What happened?”

There are raised voices behind them, and he should probably turn and deal with that, but he cannot pull his hands away from Bilbo or let his attention waver. Besides, if he does there is a good chance Thorin will only attack the strange Dwarf who had thought to kill Bilbo in his room in the middle of the night while he slept.

A very, very good chance.

No. Better to leave that to Dwalin, at least at present.

The door bursts open and immediately Thorin turns to shield Bilbo, scooping up Orcrist in one smooth movement from where he’d dropped the sword on the ground. It takes him a second to realize that it is Óin who has bustled in and that Balin is behind him.

Thorin’s eyes meet his advisor’s and Balin quickly seems to take in the situation before nodding and moving over to stand with Dwalin and the others, all of them quickly falling into hurried and heated conversation.

Óin doesn’t wait. He totters over to Thorin and Bilbo, a tray of vials, bandages and other ointments and medical supplies hanging from his neck. Both Thorin and Bilbo move to stand beside him and open their mouths but Óin takes no notice and unceremoniously shoves Thorin out of the way.

“Right,” the healer starts as Thorin glares and quickly moves back over to stand behind Bilbo instead. “You’re obviously not bleeding out so that’s a good start.”

His eyes rove quickly, hands moving just as fast as he squeezes Bilbo’s arms, and tilts his head methodically.

It makes Thorin and Bilbo’s frantic searches look ridiculous in comparison, but Thorin doesn’t care. Óin is the professional, and if there is anything Thorin has missed on Bilbo, he will find it.

“What happened then?” Óin grunts, staring intently into Bilbo’s eyes. “Pupils aren’t dilated, and your breath smells alright. You’re thinking clear enough?”

“Enough to be expected.” Bilbo tries to smile and Óin purses his lips, listening to him through his earhorn.

“Doubtful that he injected you with anything then.” The old Dwarf’s eyes slide over to Feri still lying unconscious on the couch. “Not like this poor soul.”

“He’s alive.” Bilbo says quickly. “Alto hit him with a dart to knock him out, but he said it was harmless and would wear off in a couple of hours at most. Dido and I managed to drag him up onto the couch.”

“That sounds alright then.” Óin grunts but he moves over to quickly check the sleeping Dwarf anyway. “He hit his head when he passed out?”

“I don’t think so.” Bilbo replies worriedly, moving closer as well. “Dido and I found him sitting up against the wall, not lying on the floor. Alto was quite considerate it seems.”

Óin nods as he lifts Feri’s eyelids and then takes his pulse. “I’ll speak to him when he wakes but I think this Alto told the truth of it. He seems fine.”

Thorin finally speaks past the white-hot rage he’s feeling, voice low and furious as he finishes strapping Orcrist to his waist. “You spoke to him?”

Immediately Bilbo looks over to frown. “Thorin.”

“You spoke to the Dwarf who tried to kill you? You think he was _considerate_?”

“Thorin-”

“Now listen lad-”

But Thorin is past listening. He had woken up barely ten minutes ago to the news that somebody had tried to kill Bilbo, and though it seems somehow the Hobbit has miraculously escaped unscathed, it does not mean that he is willing to behave kindly towards the Dwarf who has caused it all. Now that he knows Bilbo is alright, he can turn to other things.

With effort he lifts his head to look over at the other side of the room. Dwalin and Balin are speaking hurriedly to one another, heads angled so their conversation stays between them, and Dido is standing rigidly, eyes locked on Alto as the criminal speaks to Nori.

The rage only intensifies, and without waiting another second Thorin strides over to them all, ignoring Bilbo’s cry of protest. He brushes past Balin and Dwalin, past Dido who steps neatly out of his way, and shoves Nori to the side, only to grab the thin shirt Alto wears and slam him back into the stone wall. It makes the Dwarf cry out before Thorin presses his arm across his throat to properly hold him there.

“I will make you pay for what you tried to do here tonight.” He hisses, ignoring the wide-eyed look of panic on the other Dwarf’s face. “Do you understand?”

It must be hard to answer somebody slowly crushing your windpipe, but Alto gives a passable attempt at nodding.

“Thorin!”

“Get off of me,” he roars to Nori and Dwalin, and miraculously when he swings his free arm around to throw them back, it works. The movement only make his other arm press more firmly into the throat it is holding in place.

“I would kill you now if we did not require answers from you.” His eyes rove over the purpling face, and he can see in the tunnel-vision his rage gives him that the fair-headed Dwarf is gasping, and his green eyes are growing slightly red, but Thorin can’t hear the fractured breaths. “But you can write them for us as easily as speak them.”

“Thorin stop.”

Bilbo sounds panicked, and it is his hands that push Thorin back from the other Dwarf. He lets the arm across Alto’s throat fall, lets go of the shirt crumpled in his grip, and takes a step back as Bilbo slides between them.

“What in Eru was that for?” Bilbo snaps and he looks angrier than Thorin has seen in a long time. “What good did that do, you hot-tempered fool of a Dwarf, honestly…”

He breaks off and mutters to himself, and Thorin knows for a fact there are a few curses thrown in there.

“He tried to kill you,” Thorin says quietly, meeting Bilbo’s eyes and ignoring everyone else in the room. “I will not allow that to go unpunished.”

For a second Bilbo’s expression softens but then he crosses his arms again. “And it won’t. But you can’t just go and kill him yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“Oh shut up.” Bilbo snaps, obviously fed up with him, but Thorin sees what lies beneath that frustration.

Exasperation and annoyance, yes, but also worry that refuses to go away, and concern and love. Thorin knows all too well how Bilbo is feeling and so he is not offended.

“And calm down.”

“I will not be calm for some time.” Thorin replies, hearing Dwalin snort behind him. At Bilbo’s expression he wisely continues. “But I will not attack him again.”

“Good.” Bilbo says and their eyes hold for a moment more before the Hobbit turns back to Alto who Óin is now looking over.

Dwalin has grabbed one of Thorin’s arms and Nori the other. Dido, bless her, is the only one who looks as furious as Thorin feels the situation warrants, and they share a look of understanding.

“Ready to stop acting like a Dwarfling?” Dwalin says, shaking him a bit, and Thorin snarls.

“Careful, or it will be you I almost strangle next.” He mutters but when he shrugs them both off they let him go.

Still keeping an eye on the gasping Dwarf with Óin and Bilbo, he looks at Dwalin, Balin and Nori.

“Well?”

“Always so pleasant,” Nori says snidely and Thorin glares.

“Don’t test me, Nori. Perhaps I should ask how you know such filth,” he replies. “And why you failed in warning us that an attack on Bilbo was coming.”

True anger flares in Nori’s eyes. “I didn’t know!”

“Then I should ask you how you failed your one job here.”

“Thorin stop being a prat.” Dwalin growls. “We have important things to deal with.”

“Perhaps if you spent a little less time in Nori’s bed then he would do his job and we wouldn’t be in this situation to start with.” Thorin growls.

Surprising everyone, but Thorin most of all, Dwalin actually looks stricken at the words. Nori snarls and moves to push or hit him, but Thorin catches his arm at the same time that Dido moves forward to let her blade point at the middle ‘Ri brother.

They are locked in place like that, Thorin holding Nori’s arm mid-blow and Dido with her sword extended and never wavering, as the two Dwarves’ eyes hold overtop.

“Not another move.” Dido warns Nori just as Dwalin moves to knock her sword down.

“Leave it.”

“He tried to hit the king!” Dido says in astonishment, her eyes still on Nori to watch his every move but speaking aghast to Dwalin.

“Do not raise your hand to me.” Thorin says seriously to Nori as those two speak. “Just because I have sent my guards away does not mean I am so easily attacked.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to.” Nori spits at him.

“Are you quite finished?” Balin thunders, moving in to push them all apart. “Thorin let go of him, you great big fool, his loyalty to you and Bilbo is not in question. Nori step back, you do have some explaining to do here. Dwalin don’t make me hit you, he didn’t mean it you great numpty.”

Thorin lets Nori wrench himself away and turns to Balin as Dido smoothly steps back again to stand and watch them all. “I assure you I did mean it. Bilbo almost died tonight, Balin.”

“I did not.” The Hobbit says in irritation appearing by his side once more and still looking upset. “Honestly Thorin, you’re acting ridiculous.”

“Defending you is not ridiculous.”

“Defending me from who?” Bilbo tilts his head. “You’re the only one fighting in here.”

Thorin clenches his teeth and looks at Alto, who is obediently letting Óin gently probe his red neck with his fingers, and it is then that his anger does calm a bit before he looks back at Bilbo.

“You’re alright? Truly?”

He sounds worried but he doesn’t care. He is worried. Let everyone else know. Bilbo looks fine, yes, Bilbo seems fine, but there is a Dwarf in his rooms that attempted to kill him and Thorin still does not know what happened.

“Truly. I’m okay.” Bilbo moves slightly closer, and when his pinky comes to link with Thorin’s he jumps but holds it happily for the few seconds he can, before Bilbo lets his hand fall away. Their eyes meet and he sees the annoyance in Bilbo’s expression slip away to be replaced by weariness. “Will you listen now?”

“Yes.” It takes all his willpower to refrain from saying he had been willing to listen as soon as he’d made sure Bilbo was alright, but he suspects that wouldn’t be helpful.

Before Bilbo can reply Lila slips back into the room and comes over to report to Thorin. She takes in the situation as she walks quickly before coming to a stop beside him and bowing.

“The princes and princess are fine.” She says steadily. “So is Tauriel, Prince Legolas and his delegation, and the members of the Company on this floor. We have yet to hear from Bofur, Your Majesty, but it seems that it was a singular attack.”

It takes a second for the implications of that to sink in before he nods. “Thank you, Lila.”

Then he turns back to Bilbo and Dido, who are standing beside him, unable to wait any longer. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

“Well.” Bilbo shifts on his feet and looks around at everybody who have suddenly fallen silent to hear him. “It was like any other night really. I was a bit late getting to bed,” here he looks at Thorin significantly, who nods, remembering Bilbo’s earlier visit. Bilbo licks his lips quickly. “But it was business as usual. And it was about- oh would you look at that- close to an hour now, I suppose when I suddenly just woke up. Which is quite unusual because usually once I’m asleep I’m out for the night. But I suppose I just had a feeling or sensed that Alto was there in the room with me and it made me wake up.”

Thorin’s gaze shoots to Alto who’s standing again. Lila has moved to stand at his left side, and Dwalin is on his right, so they flank him. Already the Dwarf’s neck is turning colour. Thorin’s fingers twitch before he clenches them.

Suddenly their eyes meet. Alto doesn’t look upset or particularly hurt. He’s only standing there quietly, considering, taking in everything.

Perhaps, Thorin realizes too late, he should have kept his feelings under better control.

“It helps,” the intruder rasps, voice cracking as he winces in pain. “That I wasn’t trying to be quiet.”

Thorin frowns immediately.

“What does that mean?” He turns to Bilbo. “What does he mean?”

“Well that’s true.” The Hobbit chuckles, though Thorin hears the nervousness in it. “When I woke up he was just standing there leaning against the wall fiddling with his knives and tapping his foot.”

“Trying to wake you.” Alto speaks again and this time when Thorin glares at him it makes his mouth snap shut.

“Bilbo?”

“Save your throat,” the Hobbit says to Alto and Thorin’s temper frays further. “But yes. He said he was trying to wake me up.”

“Before or after he attacked you?”

“He never attacked me.” Bilbo says simply causing more than one of them to mutter while Thorin just stares at him steadily, trying to rationalize what he’s just heard. “Yavanna knows he had the opportunity. He could have killed me without waking me up, I’m sure, but instead he wanted me awake, and though his methods weren’t conventional, he did get me up. As soon as I could I grabbed Sting from beside my bed and got up to hold him at sword point.” The Hobbit blushes. “Not necessary really. He never moved even when I was standing there shaking and stammering out threats.”

Alto seems to laugh, but at Thorin’s glare the sound quickly breaks off to die away.

“It’s all been quite civil, though I was terrified until you all showed up.” Bilbo tries to smile and Thorin’s heart breaks at the sight of it. “I simply asked him what he was doing here and he explained everything.”

“And? What was he doing?”

“He came to kill me.” The words are blunt and simple but Thorin still flinches violently, making everybody’s eyes shoot to him. “Someone has paid him to assassinate me.”

“Who?” Thorin demands at the same time that Dido asks, “why?”

Bilbo’s eyes shoot between them. “He has his suspicions and I have mine. After talking we agree on who it is.” He worries his lip. “The Dwarf met him in a tavern with a cloak on the entire time. He paid him extra for his discretion and not to ask questions. We don’t have any proof.”

Thorin looks at Nori rather than Alto, finally understanding the association between them. “He’s an assassin.”

Nori hesitates only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yes. One of the best.”

“Second… only to one.” Alto croaks and Thorin sees the look he and Nori share.

He crosses his arms in consideration. He knows Nori’s past, or at least as much as he needs to make him certain he doesn’t want to learn the whole of it. What he does know is that Nori has connections everywhere, has never been loyal to anything except his family, and used to be like a shadow haunting the halls of Thorin’s nobles. Guards and officials used to try and find him, all obviously without success, because they never knew who exactly they were looking for.

Though the Dwarf had introduced himself as a petty thief to Bilbo on their quest, he is much, much more. Luckily their time together has made Nori loyal to more than just his brothers, or else it was entirely possible that Thorin or members of his family would be included in the list of his victims.

“I thought he was still in the Blue Mountains,” Nori continues, making Thorin pay attention once more. “That’s why- otherwise I would have put him on the payroll. Kept tabs on him like I do with the others.”

“Enough.” There is no need to so openly discuss what Nori does for him now, in front of such a crowd. He trusts the members of the Company with that information and nobody else. “We will discuss how you missed it later. Bilbo, continue, please.”

The Hobbit’s eyes are round, and for the first time Thorin thinks that maybe Bilbo hasn’t been entirely clear on Nori’s new role in Erebor. Too late now, though he suspects they will be discussing it soon.

“Right.” He skiffs his bare foot against the ground a bit. “Well like I said we came to an agreement on who we think it is.”

“And?” Dwalin asks.

“Who is it, laddie?” Balin follows his brother in asking quickly.

Bilbo looks at Thorin. “Perhaps it should wait until there are less people-”

“Bilbo. Tell me.”

The Hobbit worries his lip a moment before taking in a deep breath. “Hugin. We think- no, I’m sure actually- that it’s Hugin.”

Thorin feels all of the blood drain from his face and looks at Balin. The old Dwarf’s expression of horror is surely the exact same one he sports himself.

Hugin.

“That is a grave accusation to make against a lord of Erebor.” Balin speaks first into the shocked silence. “Bilbo how can you be sure?”

“I can’t be. Not entirely. But from the few things Alto could describe of the Dwarf who paid him, and the reasons he gave for wanting me dead, on top of…” Here he meets Thorin’s eyes. “Everything else, he seems like the only possibility. And there’s also the fact that- well he’s never been particularly kind to me. Or Tauriel.” He adds on hastily.

“Tauriel?” Nori asks in surprise, but he’s ignored.

“When? Why didn’t you tell us?” Dwalin sounds concerned.

Bilbo shrugs. “I thought- well it’s not uncommon really. Nobody’s done anything too outright. Just bad looks. Ignoring me. Taking care to put me at a disadvantage when it comes to my size, and lack of knowledge about Erebor and its culture. A few Dwarfs do it, but Hugin has always been the worst.”

“I want him arrested.” Thorin finally speaks before anybody else can. “I want him arrested and I want him tried and then I want him shaved and beheaded.”

The Dwarves all gasp.

“Sire…” Lila says but Dido shoots her a quelling look.

“Thorin we don’t know for sure-”

“It’s him.” He cuts Dwalin off and meets Balin’s eyes. “Do you agree?”

“I…” Balin looks unhappy. “It does seem most likely yes.”

“What were his reasons?” Thorin demands suddenly, looking back at Bilbo. “For wanting you killed?”

Bilbo swallows. “Again, I have my own thoughts. But what he told Alto was that Erebor couldn’t risk having its monarchy be polluted by other races.” More gasps sound, and Thorin’s hand moves to the pommel of his sword. “He promised Alto my death would somehow lead to you banishing Tauriel and forbidding her and Kíli from marrying.”

“That disgusting piece of-” Dwalin curses unspeakable things in Khuzdûl.

“Why I’ll go and find him myself and bash his skull open!” Óin exclaims.

Thorin meets Bilbo’s eyes, and the knowing look in them make his heart crack. Because already he can see the rough outline of Hugin’s plan and why the other Dwarf had thought such a convoluted action might work.

He looks at Alto. “Were you to leave any evidence here to frame somebody else?”

The Dwarf nods slowly, and from his pocket pulls out a folded piece of dark purple cloth. When he opens it on his palm Thorin takes several steps forward to see what he holds on display, but when he does something heavy falls in his stomach.

There lies a blonde strand of hair. An Elvish hair.

It is not the shade of Legolas’ but likely one of his guards. Even then, the presence of it in Bilbo’s room would have been discovered at some point or another, and it would have raised questions.

It would have sprung accusations from Thorin, who would likely have been too grief-stricken to be reasoned with.

“But that proves nothing.” Bilbo says in surprise. “It could have been caught on a piece of my clothing or something just as innocent.”

“Nothing would be proven but it would not have to be.” Balin speaks heavily. “Relations with the Elves are still new and old grudges live on. Suspicion is heavy between our people, even now. Though it is not enough evidence for a trial and execution, I suspect it would have been enough for Thorin to cut the ties between our peoples. Perhaps even go to war.”

“War?”

Bilbo’s shocked exclamation is met with serious stares from the Dwarves around him.

“We do not take threats lightly to those we claim as our own.” It is Dido who speaks. “You have been named Dwarf-friend, and if you had been killed in our kingdom we would avenge you as we would a member of our people. Great lengths would be taken for a member of our King’s Company.”

“But I am also an Elf-friend! Thranduil himself gave me the title. Surely the idea that one of his people would hurt me is too ridiculous to even consider?”

“Like Balin said,” Thorin rumbles. “There would not be enough proof. But ties would be heavily strained, doubts would arise, and eventually relations would be severed. I would forbid any Elf from entering Erebor’s halls. Including Tauriel.”

“Thorin.”

“A war would not be immediate, but it would doubtlessly come eventually.” He is still staring at that strand of hair. “And though your death would not be the catalyst, it would be the underlying cause. At least to me.”

When he looks up, Alto is staring back at him expressionless. “How did you get that?”

“Even the Elves… have relaxed while here. One Dwarf can easily slip into one of the lower ranked guards’ chambers. Especially… when that Dwarf is me.”

Though he pauses to swallow and speaks slowly, it seems Alto’s throat is not so badly damaged as Thorin had supposed. He isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful for it.

“This level of Erebor is guarded.”

“Most of Erebor is guarded at the moment.” Alto’s smile is sharp before it falters under Thorin’s unimpressed stare. “Guards have never posed much of a problem for me.”

Thorin clenches his hands into fists again. “Nori.”

“I heard.” Nori’s head is cocked as he looks at Alto. “You could be of huge help to me.”

“He will be of no help to anybody once he loses his head.” Thorin intones.

“Thorin.” Bilbo comes up to him and he looks down at the Hobbit, eyes raking over him unnecessarily once more in search of injury, hoping the fear he feels isn’t evident for all to see on his face.

That strand of hair. The fact that Alto had snuck into Legolas’ guards’ quarters undetected. Gotten into Bilbo’s successfully. It is more frightening than he is willing to admit to everybody in this room.

“He didn’t do it.” Bilbo touches his hand lightly, regaining his attention. “In fact, he woke me up and confessed it all. Dido only found us after we had been speaking for some time.”

Thorin’s eyes flicker to her and she meets them steadily. “I found Feri unconscious just inside the door when I came to give him the night off and take his shift. When I saw Bilbo with the intruder, he had him at sword point but they were speaking calmly, like he said.” Her mouth thins unhappily. “I believe that if he wanted to harm Bilbo he would have. When Bilbo sent me to get you and Dwalin Alto didn’t try to stop me.”

“Because he knew he would be overpowered.”

“Or because he had changed his mind.” Bilbo says softly.

Their eyes hold until Thorin sighs. “Lila you may go back to your post.”

When she doesn’t immediately answer he glances over to find a look of consternation on her face.

“Dwalin and Dido are here, and he is not putting up a fight.” Thorin explains with more patience than he feels. “You may go.”

“Actually if you wouldn’t mind helping me carry this lad to the infirmary that would be a mighty help.” Óin breaks in, making them all glance to where he is still working with Feri. “As far as I can tell he’s fine, but better to get him out of here all the same.”

Thorin nods. He should have thought of that. “Good idea. Lila.”

“Yes sire.” She murmurs and moves over to help Óin hoist Feri up between them. She does stop though, to glance at Bilbo. “I am glad that you are alright, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo blinks in surprise. “Thank you. Very much.”

Balin helpfully opened the door for the three of them and shuts it again afterwards.

“Now.” Thorin rubs his temples tiredly despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the pounding of his heart.

“Let’s all sit down I think.” Bilbo pipes up. “Should I make tea?”

“Bilbo-”

“Tea would be wonderful lad, thank you.” Balin speaks over Thorin cheerfully. “Thorin why don’t you just take a seat there, that’s a good chap. Dido can take her post behind you, as I’m sure Bilbo will join you both quickly. Nori you sit with Dwalin and your… acquaintance, and I’ll go and help with the tea. Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

“Brother you can’t be serious.”

“O,h I assure you Dwalin, I am. Now sit down.”

Balin hustles away to where Bilbo is starting the fire and fills and hangs a pot of water over it.

“Dwalin come on.” Nori instructs, gesturing to the space on the couch beside him. “Between the two of us he won’t leave.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“Because I am.” Nori shares a look with Alto. “He’s made his choice. Believe me, we’d all be in a very different situation right now if he’d chosen differently.”

“Do not,” Thorin says sharply before he can stop himself, knowing that the alternative would have been them all waking up to find Bilbo dead. He is unable to seriously consider the idea. “We will not speak of it further.”

“I think we’ll have to.” Nori continues while never looking away from Dwalin and Alto. He seems to concentrate especially on the prisoner’s hands. “As he’s helped prevent it.”

“He is the reason it was even a possibility!”

“No,” Nori’s eyes flicker over to pierce him. “Hugin is. That’s the problem that needs to be sorted tonight.”

“And what would you suggest we do with him?” Thorin nods at Alto. “Let him go free?”

He and Dwalin both stare at Nori who once again looks at the culprit beside him. Alto himself continues watching Thorin curiously.

“Yes.” The middle ‘Ri brother says finally, and Thorin snarls again. “He didn’t do it.”

“That makes no difference.” Thorin says fiercely. “He is a danger to us all now, he’s proved as much. I cannot allow him to remain in Erebor to be hired by someone whose agenda he ultimately agrees with.”

“Then don’t. Hire him yourself and take him off the market.”

“I will not have filth such as he on my payroll.”

Nori’s smile is sharp. “Have you forgotten, sire? You already do.”

“Honestly we leave for two minutes.” Bilbo says in a huff as he sets a tray laden with mugs down on the table and starts to pour. Balin is close behind with more cups and two teapots. “Right, who wants some?”

Dwalin declines, as does Dido, but Nori and Alto both accept. Thorin also tries to say no but Bilbo fixes him with a such a stare that he cannot help but meekly take it back and accept a full cup a moment later.

“Perfect.” Bilbo says and moves to sit beside Thorin, easily taking a seat on the Hobbit-level sofa. He is the only one of them who doesn’t look overly large and awkward, and he seems quite pleased with it too. “Now what are we going to do?”

His hand falls to the small space on the cushions between them, and the Dwarf glances from the tea cupped in his hands and resting on his lap, to the Hobbit’s fingers. Is it an invitation? Is he meant to take Bilbo’s hand as he yearns to so badly?

“There is only one thing to be done.” Balin says tiredly in response. “We must find out if it is truly Hugin who hired him.”

“And how will we do that?” Dwalin asks. “Walk up to him and ask?”

“I know you’re tense, brother, but now is not the time for your short-temper.”

“I agree with Dwalin.” Thorin says after slowly putting his hand down near Bilbo’s while feeling his heart quicken slightly. “I see no way to get proof.”

“I do.”

Alto speaks roughly and still he looks at Thorin. His eyes flicker down at the same moment Bilbo shifts and takes Thorin’s hand with his own, hidden between their legs, which now press together. Thorin’s fingers tighten around his teacup and Alto’s expression flickers.

“The Dwarf who hired me was desperate. Sharp enough not to leave a trail, hide who he was and to pay me in common coin, but still desperate enough to need outside help. That’s a weakness.”

Nori nods. “Desperation leads to mistakes.”

Alto glances at him. “I had a deadline. Do what he hired me for tonight and no later. When he sees that I haven’t he’ll seek me out and demand an explanation.”

“I doubt he would be so foolish as to come to you in the dungeons.”

The assassin smiles sharply at Balin. “I wouldn’t be so sure. First, he’ll argue for you to free me, mark my words. He’ll have some excuse for it. When that fails, he’ll make sure the guards on his payroll are working in the dungeons and let him in. If I tell him I changed my mind and purposely didn’t complete the assignment he’ll kill me for sure, so that I can’t do what I’ve already done and tell you everything or give you any idea of who he could be.”

Thorin meets Dwalin’s eyes. “Guards on his payroll?”

Dwalin’s eyes are narrowed but his face is furious. “It’s possible. I handpick the guards for you, Bilbo and other priorities. Not the dungeons. There’s hardly anyone in them but petty criminals and thieves.”

Thorin nods unhappily but has no choice but to accept it. “Find out. And you.” He returns Alto’s look. “How do you know all of this if you cannot say for sure it is him behind it all?”

“It’s a well-kept open secret that Hugin despises other races being in Erebor.” Alto says. “He and the company he keeps are your best bet. And I can’t know for certain that he’ll do as I think, but what does it matter? I’ll be in your dungeons either way.”

“There is some truth in that.” Balin interjects. “And right now it’s the best idea we’ve got.”

Thorin looks at his old friend. “You truly think he would be foolish enough to go to the dungeons himself?”

“I think Nori is right and desperate people often do things they normally wouldn’t. When Bilbo publicly walks around Erebor tomorrow and shows everybody he is unharmed, whoever is behind this will know they have a loose end. A loose end they’ll want taken care of.”

“What is to say they will take care of it themselves?”

“Nothing.” Alto says. “But even if they don’t, whoever they send will be another clue, and get you one step closer to your real culprit. They might even know for sure who it is.”

Thorin meets the eyes of those around him. Nori nods, Dwalin hesitates, Balin nods and Alto stares on, waiting. When he glances behind him at Dido she still looks unhappy but Thorin suspects that it’s more from the failure in Bilbo’s security than anything.

Finally he looks at Bilbo whose hand is warm and comforting in his own. Absently Thorin thinks that his tea must be going cold by now. “What do you think?”

Bilbo looks back at him seriously. “I think it’s as good a plan as any.”

His eyes are steady and calm and Thorin reads the strength in them before nodding himself.

“Very well. Dwalin.” He turns back to his best friend. “Take him to the dungeons and put trusted guards on him. Tomorrow morning I want you with me first thing to further discuss his security and that of those we are guarding.”

Dwalin nods again before standing and hauling Alto up with him.

“Nori you can go with them. I want to see you tomorrow as well.” Thorin’s mind races. “Come together if you wish.”

Neither of their expressions change but Thorin can tell from the shift in their postures that Nori relaxes while Dwalin only tenses.

“Dido will you guard the door.” Thorin requests. “Until the next sentry comes to relieve you.”

“Of course, sire.” Dido says and moves from the back of the couch to stand beside where Bilbo is sitting. Haltingly she lightly puts her hand on the Hobbits shoulder and looks at him, expression tender for a brief moment. “I am glad you are safe.”

Bilbo smiles up at her gratefully. “Thank you, Dido.”

She takes her hand away in a jerk and moves to slip out, closing the door behind her as Bilbo stares after her.

“She’s already apologized twice.” Bilbo murmurs and Thorin meets his eyes. “I expect she’ll do so again a couple of times before it’s done with.”

“As she should.” Thorin is by no means upset with Dido but he sees no fault in her admitting her failure. She is officially in charge of Bilbo’s guard after all. “She cares for you.”

“Yes.” Bilbo smiles. “I like her as well.”

Thorin is happy when it isn’t jealousy but rather satisfaction that fills him at the words. That is what he had wanted after all, for Bilbo to form connections and have people he feels comfortable with around him here in Erebor. “I’m glad.”

Balin clears his throat, making both of them look over at him. Bilbo blushes and tries to pull his hand away, but Thorin grips it tighter, not letting him. The old Dwarf looks amused rather than chastising.

“Was there a reason I was not dismissed?”

“Yes. I want us to better plan our trap for Hugin.”

Balin nods. “I thought so. But should we not let Bilbo get some rest and do this elsewhere?” His face softens when he meets Bilbo’s eyes. “You have been through an ordeal after all.”

“Normally I would agree.” Thorin answers before Bilbo can. “But I know that he will not want to be left out of the proceedings. Nor should he, considering they concern him.”

When their eyes meet he sees a flare of something warm and familiar in Bilbo’s, before the Hobbit looks down with a small and happy smile. “You thought right.”

Thorin smiles too, happy at guessing right for once, though it quickly disappears when the reason they are there returns to him.

“We are luring Hugin to Alto in the dungeons, but I want to know how we plan on being there when he finally decides to pay the wretch a visit?”

“I think it would be more accurate to call Hugin the wretch, no?” Balin says and Bilbo nods.

“Oh there are many things I would call that _khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl_. Wretch does not even come close.” Thorin says furiously. Dwalin is not the only one who can curse colourfully. “But I plan to say them to his face once we have found him guilty.”

Bilbo is contemplative. “We can try and hire one of the guards he has back? Make them send someone for us if Hugin actually does visit Alto?”

Balin hums and Thorin frowns. “I would not trust them to do it.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try.” Balin says slowly. “Though it should not be the only step we take.”

“Do you have an idea?” Bilbo pushes, making Thorin look over and meet his inquiring eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“I wonder,” Thorin begins and then he tells them his plan.

Over an hour later Balin leaves them with a satisfied expression. “If the Dwarf comes then this will work.”

“I hope so.” Thorin says from where he’s standing near the door. Bilbo has already bid Balin goodbye and has taken to tidying the cups and trays.

“Tomorrow then?”

“Yes.” Thorin nods. “Wake me if I’m not already up.”

Balin’s eyes drift past him to Bilbo. “And where will you be if I need to do so?”

Thorin’s blush surprised even himself. “In my chambers, Balin. Now go.”

The old Dwarf’s eyes sparkle. “Alright. Until tomorrow then.” He nods at Thorin. “Good night Bilbo!”

“Night!” The Hobbit calls back absently and Thorin watches Balin leave and exchanges a nod with Dido before making sure the heat in his face is gone and turning to Bilbo once more.

“I suppose I should leave as well.” He hedges, not sure what response he wants, only knowing that he wants one. “You must be tired.”

“Yes.” Bilbo is still fidgeting with the tea sets, though they are stacked and neat, ready for a servant to take away and replace in the morning.

Thorin wonders if Bilbo’s nerves are from the events of tonight (the probable, rational explanation), or from the fact that the two of them are alone and dealing with the horrifying idea that they’d each thought the other in danger (more than likely only Thorin’s wishful thinking).

Still he takes a hesitant step forward. “Bilbo?”

The Hobbit lets out a breath and moves over quickly to crash into and grip him tightly in a sudden hug. Thorin doesn’t waste a moment before sinking down to his knees and returning it.

“I know I said Alto was harmless in the end,” the Hobbit’s words are muffled into his flimsy shirt but Thorin hears them all the same. “But I’ll admit there was a few minutes there when I was well and truly scared.”

Words spring to the tip of Thorin’s tongue. Sentences to explain that he is terrified too, and that the fear he’d felt tonight was one he hadn’t experienced since the Battle of Five Armies. He wants to say that the thought of Bilbo dying hadn’t sunk in, because he wouldn’t allow it, but that he’s scared if it did the mere idea would cripple him. Thorin wants to confess all, and repeat his declarations of love, but he knows that would only complicate matters further.

Bilbo had been scared for him. He had been just as scared that Thorin was hurt as Thorin had been for him, and that means something doesn’t it? He’s already said there is reason for Thorin to hope and encouraged him not to give up on the two of them being together again. That would be enough for now. Bilbo has been through enough tonight without Thorin selfishly taking advantage of his vulnerability to pursue him further.

“You hid your fear well.” Thorin reassures him, speaking into Bilbo’s hair. “I suspect everyone was more concerned with my emotional behaviour than your own. You were nothing but commendable.”

He feels Bilbo’s smile. “You were hotheaded as always.”

Disappointment makes his hopes sink.

“But if I had been in your position, I can’t say I wouldn’t have acted similarly.” Bilbo continues, making Thorin tighten their hug. “When I thought the attack was a coordinated one- that you and your nephews were in danger-”

“I’m fine.”

Bilbo hesitates and then pulls away so that when Thorin looks Bilbo is already looking up at him, eyes searching his face.

“When I was home I thought of you always.” His confession is hushed and nervous. His eyes skitter away. “The good and the bad.”

His mouth twists at the reference unhappily, and Thorin remembers that moment keenly, remembers _“One day it will grow, and one day I'll look back and remember. Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad. And how lucky I am that I made it home.”_

“But mostly I thought of Azog’s attack after the goblin tunnels.” Bilbo continues without pause, snapping Thorin out of the memories. “Back when I thought you were dead, or close enough to it. And the eagles came to save us. To save you. Then again, later on Ravenhill, after you killed Azog and were bleeding out in front of me once more, they came and took you to the medics. Every time they saved your life.”

_You saved me after the goblin tunnels_ , Thorin wants to say, _you kept Azog away from me. And after, on Ravenhill, your voice was the last I heard, pleading with me to stay alive._

Bilbo had been willing to give his life for Thorin way back then. After the words exchanged, and the insults Thorin had sent his way, Bilbo had still done that. For him.

The Carrock had been the first time he allowed himself to believe the Hobbit might survive the quest. The first time Thorin had opened up to him with hope blooming that they may both survive their mad venture.

“And all these years I was away,” Bilbo continues. “I couldn’t help but think that if something happened to you, the eagles wouldn’t be there this time. Nobody would miraculously appear to save you if you needed it. I knew Dwalin would be around of course, like always, and you have countless guards, but I just kept thinking that something would happen to you. Some enemy would sneak in and end everything, and I would hear about it in a letter from one of the others. Do you know I lived every day with that fear?”

“I am unharmed, Bilbo.”

Hazel eyes slide to him. “Yes, I know. But there is a difference between knowing it in your brain and seeing it with your eyes. I was not with you, Thorin, and so I could not know. It tore at me.”

And Thorin cannot say anything to reassure him further because he knows exactly how Bilbo feels. All that time they spent apart Thorin had wondered what the Hobbit was doing and how he fared. Had he been harmed on the journey back to the Shire? Was his reception home warm and welcoming?

He had wondered other things too, things he had no right to ask. The possibility of them hurt too much to even form the words.

And though the fears of Bilbo falling in love with another have been proved false, the threat of danger to them both is still there. But especially Bilbo. Tonight proves that.

People are unhappy with a Hobbit in Erebor. With a Hobbit having such power over the king.

This went beyond Hugin, Thorin is sure. Though it might be a small population, there are those that are against the Elves and Hobbits joining the Dwarves. Alto had said so himself in referencing the company that Hugin keeps.

Instead of giving in to them as he had before, Thorin decides to deal with them once and for all. No more cowardice, not in this. He will not destroy his happiness or Bilbo’s again, especially for anybody who is so narrow-minded and full of hatred. It was his indecisiveness, his unwillingness to take a stance, that had given them the courage and opportunity to grow this powerful.

No more. He will not ignore this any longer, because now he knows that it isn’t a problem that will just go away. Ideas like this, and the people who propagate them, needed to be fought.

“I understand better than anyone.” He replies and doesn’t elaborate. Bilbo knows already. Of course he does.

“You’re alright.” Thorin repeats, returning to the present situation, catching sight of the wealth of emotion on Bilbo’s face. Tenderness. Worry. Appreciation. “That is all that matters to me.”

Bilbo’s eyes fall closed. “Would it be cruel of me to ask whether I could sleep with you tonight? In your room?”

“Cruel?” Thorin speaks past his quickly beating heart.

“I do not want to give you false hope.” Bilbo looks at him desperately. “It is just to sleep.”

“I would not presume otherwise.” Thorin says, slightly hurt.

Bilbo nods. “Only I don’t want to be alone. And I don’t want to sleep here.” He forces a smile. “Tomorrow I will be fine I’m sure, but tonight I don’t think I could manage it.” He swallows and looks at Thorin resolutely. “And I want to be with you.”

“I always want to be with you.” Thorin replies simply. “And if that is what you want as well, I will not turn you away.”

“Just to sleep.”

“Just to sleep.” Thorin agrees. That is all he craves anyway. Tonight is not the time for anything more. “Shall we go?”

Bilbo nods and Thorin, who is feeling daring, takes his hand and leads him back to his quarters.

When they are lying together in the dark, Bilbo half on top of Thorin with his hand resting on his chest, above his heart, Thorin feels Bilbo’s chest rise and fall steadily against his side as the Hobbit breathes. He’s thinking how improper it is that they are sharing a bed before Bilbo has accepted his courtship, and then he remembers that they have shared a bed long before that, and then he tries not to think at all.

“Tell me about when I was away.” Bilbo whispers into the space by his neck.

The arm Thorin has underneath Bilbo tightens and pulls him a bit closer.

“What do you want to know?” He whispers back.

“Everything.” Bilbo replies. “Everything that I missed. What were you like while I was gone?”

“Me?” Shame flares up as he remembers. “Cruel more often than not. I took my heartbreak out on those around me.”

“Surely not?”

“I did.” Thorin casts his thoughts back. “Immediately after I had told you to go my temper returned tenfold. The day you went with Gandalf I was there watching you leave. Do you remember?”

“I didn’t know what to think.” Bilbo murmurs and Thorin hears the sleep in his voice. “It was a long time after that before I found the Arkenstone and dared to wonder if maybe you had lied when sending me away. But even then I convinced myself it was you trying to pay your debt so we would have nothing between us any longer.”

Thorin almost says something to that but catches himself. He’s already exhausted himself on the subject of the Arkenstone with Bilbo, and besides, that had not been what the Hobbit asked to hear. Though he isn’t eager to expose his egregious past behaviour to the one in his arms, he won’t lie either. He wants Bilbo to have all of the facts before making a decision about their relationship. If Bilbo wants to know, it will be better coming from him, won’t it?

“Almost as soon as you were out of sight I hardened. I was unkind to everyone, including myself, and I did not care. I was hurting and wallowed in my own grief. It was the Company who slowly broke me out of it.”

“How?” Bilbo yawns into Thorin’s neck and makes him shiver.

He recalls those years while Bilbo was away. “It began with Bofur, the day after you left…”

He has only just gotten to explaining the conversation about Ori learning Elvish, the several shouting matches with Balin that ended with the one-year anniversary vigil on the ramparts and Óin’s helpful sleeping tonic, when Thorin realizes Bilbo has finally fallen asleep.

Despite his own frayed nerves Thorin is asleep within minutes as well.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this is backstory and strategy. Hopefully it's still interesting, and it is necessary for the development of the story.
> 
> ghivashel- treasure of all treasures   
> Iglishmêk- the secret sign language of the Dwarves

The next morning is unpleasant for several reasons.

He has an assassin to deal with. A rogue lord and his allies must be punished. The rest of the Company is shaken and tense, divided on what to do in response to such an overt and direct threat. Tauriel is paler and grimmer than usual and Thorin cannot tell if it is because of grim determination or fear. More than a few of the other Dwarfs have worked themselves into a rage that has no outlet and, to top it all off, Thorin eventually has to inform Legolas of the failed attempt at framing him and his people.

And still all of that pales in comparison to the fact that for the first time in years Thorin has woken up with Bilbo in his arms.

He always has been and always will be an early riser, but this morning Bilbo beats him to it. As Thorin’s mind eventually pulls itself out of his dreams he notices the warm weight in his embrace and feels the soft caress of breath nudging a few strands of his hair that are spread on the pillow.

His fingers twitch, reaching out to skim the warm skin and clothing. It is only when Bilbo shifts in response that Thorin’s eyes open and he remembers exactly why the Hobbit is in his bed.

It’s instinctive, the rush of disappointment that sweeps through him from the reminder that things are not what they once were. Bilbo being here is a one-off, not a regular occurrence. It is not something Thorin should grow used to again.

But he had forgotten that, in his sleep.

The disappointment is quickly followed by anger when he remembers last night, only for concern to finally overshadow both. His azure eyes take in all of Bilbo that he can see, searching once more for wounds or injury that he might have missed in his tired state last night.

“Good morning.” Bilbo speaks, making him quit his search as their gazes meet. “I would say you worry too much but when I woke up I did the same with you.”

Thorin slowly loosens his hold on him to pull his arm back. The one beneath them tingles as blood rushes back to his extremities. The other hand he moves to cup Bilbo’s cheek.

“And do I have no reason to worry?” He asks, voice rasping from sleep, and thumb stroking Bilbo’s cheekbone. “Good morning, by the way.”

“No reason at all.” The Hobbit confirms but he smiles at Thorin lazily from where he’s lying down in relaxation. “Not a scratch on me.”

Quick as a bird in flight he turns and kisses Thorin’s palm, soft and sweet, and then moves to hold it in one of his own that is resting on the sheets in the space between them. “You slept well.”

“I did.” Thorin says in surprise. Last night he would have thought such a thing impossible. “Better than I have in a while.”

Sadness flickers across Bilbo’s expression but it’s replaced quickly with another smile. “Good.”

“And you?” He’s almost afraid to ask and hastens to try and make a joke. “I didn’t crush you in your sleep, did I?”

“Never. Although I had forgotten what a bloody furnace you are.”

Thorin frowns, uncertain whether he’s being teased or if it’s a genuine complaint, and isn’t sure how to answer.

“Oh Thorin.” Bilbo sighs. “I did ask you to stop tip-toeing around me, didn’t I?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Well I’m asking now.” The Hobbit angles his head to meet his eyes more directly. “I always used to tease you about how warm and heavy you are. Don’t start overthinking it now.”

And maybe it’s because it’s morning, or because of how high their emotions had come to last night, or just because it’s Bilbo, but Thorin finds himself speaking more honestly than he usually would have.

“I just don’t want to mess this up again.”

Something cracks in Bilbo’s expression.

“You haven’t.” He replies simply. “But how do you ever expect us to get back to normal if we don’t behave naturally with each other?”

He sees the logic in Bilbo’s words and nods.

“I know that. Up here.” He taps his temple. “But I know myself too.”

“And you think I don’t? I can handle your moods as well as anyone else, remember? When you need some sense knocked into you, don’t think I’ll be afraid to do it.”

“You’re right.”

“Like always.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Thorin replies and the dig makes Bilbo grin even wider.

He can’t help but bring the mood down again though. Not when they have so much hanging over them and so much waiting to be done outside of the refuge of this room.

“Bilbo, I need to ask you something.”

“About last night?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He sounds disappointed but not surprised. “Out with it then.”

“You seem certain Hugin is behind this.” Thorin meets his eyes steadily, taking in the Hobbit’s reaction. “And I believe you. But I want to know what else he has done around you and Tauriel that the rest of us haven’t seen.”

“Thorin…” Bilbo hesitates. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What can it achieve? You already know what you need to.”

“I feel responsible. For allowing him so near to you. For not putting a stop to his disgusting ideas years ago when they first presented themselves.” He grits his teeth. “If I had dealt with him like I wanted rather than opting to ignore him then this could have been avoided.”

“Dealt with him? You had no evidence.”

“No?” Thorin tilts his chin up again. “Years ago when Hugin first arrived in Erebor did he not act out against you then? In the council meetings when I didn’t see, or other times when I wasn’t around, he did nothing to you?”

“Well.” Bilbo frowns. “He wasn’t the nicest, I’ll admit, but it was never enough to cause worry. I would have told you otherwise.”

That is some comfort at least, but not much.

“I think he’s grown bolder these past few years.”

“Because I was foolish enough to listen and send you away.”

“Maybe. Who can say but Hugin himself?” Bilbo answers calmly. “The past cannot be changed. I’m only grateful we have the chance to act now. Because Alto chose to spare me.”

“That is another problem I must deal with.” Thorin growls. “Another traitor.”

“He didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“He was close enough.” He snarls but calms at Bilbo’s frown. “Far too close. Nobody will ever come so near to hurting you again.”

“Oh, Thorin. Shouldn’t I be the one most upset about this? You and Dido both, you’re calling for his head when he ended up doing the right thing. Think how much worse it would have been if somebody else had been in his place and made a different decision.”

“I have no wish to picture it.” Thorin says but he acknowledges what Bilbo is saying all the same. “I don’t understand what changed his mind.”

“Nor do I.” Bilbo says. “The only way we can know is by asking him.”

“You wish to speak to him?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ll have to.” Thorin grouses. “You can stay as far away from him as you need.”

“I don’t mind speaking to him. You’re not the only one with questions.”

“Mmm, I should have known.” He closes his eyes again. “Honestly if I could ignore all of this until tomorrow and just stay here in bed all day I would.” Looking at Bilbo through his lashes he adds bravely, “with you.”

“That does sound nice.” He sounds like he means it and Thorin’s heart soars. “But you have a whole kingdom out there waiting for you.”

He groans and rolls on his back, disentangling their fingers to throw his arm over his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

Bilbo’s laughter makes him turn his head to look back over and when the Hobbit’s merriment dies down their eyes meet again.

“Stay with me today?” Thorin asks softly.

“Yes.” Bilbo agrees just as quiet. “For as long as I can.”

The air sharpens between them and something in Bilbo’s hazel eyes changes, darkens into something deeper. For a moment want courses through Thorin so strongly he’s almost swept away with it.

Between their mouths is only a hands width of space. If Thorin only moved forward an inch and Bilbo met him the rest of the way-

-a knock sounds at his door.

“Thorin it’s me!” Balin’s voice calls. “I thought it best to be cautious in case you weren’t…ready.”

From the knowing tone in his words the old Dwarf knows very well that he isn’t alone. Thorin’s eyes slip shut in resignation and he feels more than hears Bilbo’s tiny sigh of disappointment.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes, Balin.” He answers, voice raised just enough to be heard outside his bedroom.

Bilbo is already moving to slip out of bed, his clothes from last night rumpled because of sleep, and Thorin pushes away his disappointment. This is for the best, he reminds himself. They don’t need more complications in this courtship, or to do anything that Bilbo will regret. Besides Thorin is trying to ensure that they avoid occurrences that could make Bilbo feel obligated to stay with him. Not that the Hobbit typically did anything he didn’t want to, but nevertheless, Thorin thinks it best to be safe and avoid anything that would make things… messy.

“Best be quick about it.” Balin answers but Thorin hears him shuffle at least a few steps back.

He turns to Bilbo. “If you like you can wait here and come find us in my office. To avoid…” He trails off, but waves his hand towards the door, trying to encapsulate the outside world in general. “Complications.”

Bilbo smiles. “Thank you, but I already said I would stay with you. Don’t think I’m changing my mind that easily.”

Something flares in Thorin’s gut at the knowledge that Balin will know they spent the night together. And though Balin is usually (usually, mind you, but not always) not one to gossip, he feels a possessive satisfaction that somebody will see Bilbo is not spending his time in anybody else’s bed.

He doesn’t say anything, but he feels some of the returned tension in his shoulders ease. At least today has started out well, no matter what else happens.

And it all happens so quickly.

Balin is nothing but professional when they both emerge from the bedroom, greeting Bilbo just as warmly as usual before falling into step beside Thorin to give him the updates. There is no change in his demeanor or anything to hint that things are out of the ordinary.

Thorin feels a surge of affection for his old friend and he even sees the slight unease in Bilbo’s expression disappear to become something much more relaxed and genuine.

“Dwalin and Nori are waiting in your office. No sign of anything all night, according to Dwalin, and Alto never so much as twitched in his sleep. To be honest he seemed exhausted, and Nori said it was probably the first full night of rest Alto’s had in ages. Apparently even the safety measures of assassins pales in comparison to royal security.”

Thorin grunts, unimpressed. He is not spending Erebor’s coin to give criminals a night of respite. The knowledge that Alto has suspicions of enemies who want to hurt him doesn’t exactly endear him to Thorin, especially since right now he is one of the Dwarves on that list.

“Should we not go directly there? I would like to get this over with.”

“I don’t think so.” Balin hesitates as they move from Thorin’s antechamber to his living room, only a short distance from the door leading to his office. “There are things we’ll say that I would rather only speak of in a secure room. The jail cells are old and far easier to listen in on then your private rooms. And,” he licks his lower lip, searching for the words. Thorin and Bilbo wait patiently. “Nori is torn up about this. More than I thought last night. If an argument breaks out I don’t want anybody else seeing.”

“Hmm. Well if there is an argument then it will be resolved quickly. Nori is out of his mind if he expects me to show that traitor any leniency.”

“Thorin-”

“No, Bilbo.” He shakes his head and moves to the door of his workspace. “You cannot sway me on this.”

Wanting to ignore the disappointment in the Hobbit’s features he turns the handle and moves quickly into his office to stand by the chair behind his desk, though he doesn’t sit down. Already waiting, as Balin had said, are Dwalin and Nori, who seem to be avoiding one another’s eyes and standing as far apart from each other as possible on opposite sides of the room. Thorin feels the tenseness in the air and internally laments the fact that nothing, nothing, can ever be easy. 

“Good morning.” He greets them both.

Each of them grunt wordlessly back, obviously too wrapped up in their own thoughts to give him their full attention. Dwalin is staring resolutely at the wall behind Thorin’s back while Nori practically pins him with his gaze, eyes not missing the smallest fidget of Thorin’s fingers.

“Dwalin, report please.”

“Nothing to report really.” His friends face creases unhappily. “He was quite willing to talk but had nothing more to say, or at least that was his story. And the night passed quietly without a peep from him. Not even a snore.”

Thorin likes that about as much as Dwalin does. “No suspicious Dwarves hanging around?”

“Not from what my people saw. I’ve handpicked the rosters for the next week.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “When did you find the time to do that?”

“Last night. I was the one guarding him.”

Nori sniffs unhappily and Thorin takes a closer look at his friend and sees that he does seem tired. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Nah. But I’m alright.” He crosses his arms and looks away again. “Couldn’t have another failure, and I wouldn’t have been able to sleep without at least sorting out shifts first.”

He and Dwalin had gone more than one night without sleep before, but the times of war and running are behind them now, and so is their youth. Thorin won’t have his best friend exhausting himself because of some unnecessary guilt.

“Make sure you get some rest today.” Thorin orders and turns to Nori before Dwalin can object. “I need you to tell me everything you know about him, Nori.”

He nods unhappily. Thorin has never seen Nori so obviously affected as he is now.

“Alto Faltoson. He’s a Dwarf from the Blue Mountains but he’s been to almost every Dwarven kingdom in Arda at some point or other. Poor family, lots of siblings, dead parents.” Nori’s voice catches. “I’ve known him since I was young.”

“How do you know him?”

“How you think?” Nori snaps before clenching his fists and looking away. Bilbo shifts at Thorin’s side, brushing slightly against him. “He taught me a lot of what I know. We worked together sometimes.”

Thorin and Balin both stiffen at the knowledge, though Dwalin shows no sign of surprise. He and Nori have already had this conversation apparently.

Thorin files some questions away for later. Right now they aren’t important.

“Why didn’t you put him on our payroll like the others? Why didn’t we know he was here in Erebor?”

“Like I said, he taught me a lot of what I know. He’s good. Really good.”

“Well I need you to be better!” Thorin slams his hands on his desk and leans forward, holding Nori’s eyes and finally finding a release for the anger and worry that has never gone away. “What is the point of having you work for me if you aren’t the best at what you do?”

“Thorin, just listen to him first.” Bilbo says in an attempt to deescalate the situation. “Mistakes happen.”

“Mistakes cannot happen in Nori’s line of work! Mistakes like that lead to-” He cuts himself off and breathes heavily, glancing down at Bilbo who looks back up calmly.

Mistakes from Nori means people Thorin loves getting hurt. It means assassins in bedrooms and nobody there to protect those most dear to him.

“I know that.” Bilbo replies as if Thorin has actually finished his sentence. “But Nori is our friend and the best there is at what he does. Hear him out.”

He takes a deep breath and catches the last second of Nori’s surprised and thankful look towards Bilbo before the assassin meets Thorin’s eyes and grows wary again.

“I am better than Alto.” Nori says, and there is no pride or haughtiness in the words, simply acceptance of fact. “But knowing everything that goes on in an entire kingdom is harder than knowing the schedule of one target.”

Thorin scowls. Nori’s words don’t soothe him at all, but he cannot argue with them so he voices his displeasure another way.

“Both of you failed your jobs last night.” He says and Dwalin flinches at the hardness of his voice. Nori’s shoulders merely pull back. “And I will not have that happen a second time.”

He glances at Bilbo and swallows the remainder of his anger. There is another target for that who is far more deserving.

“But Nori you are the best at what you do, and Dwalin I trust you with the safety of me and my loved ones more than anybody else. So the three of us need to make sure we learn from this rather than repeat our mistake.”

Three surprised looks are sent his way while Balin nods seriously from the door.

“You’ve both gone over the details of what happened already with me, and I will talk it through with Thorin later. From there you can all figure out how to ensure nothing like this happens again. But now I think we should work out our immediate plans.”

“He’s asked to speak to you Thorin.” Nori says immediately when Balin finishes talking.

Thorin nods. “I have every intention of seeing him today. If he thinks he can get away with threatening my… a valued member of my Company, then he is severely wrong. A few words from me and he will know exactly how seriously we are taking this.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary.” Bilbo says. “He’s already turned himself in.”

“And has no plans to do anything else.” Nori says. “He just wants to talk.”

“Should the King of Erebor heed the request of every prisoner?”

“Obviously not but I think you could learn a lot-”

“Or he could.” Thorin interrupts. “Perhaps this is his plan, to bring me to the prison cell and have me murdered or worse.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaims.

“Oh yes, a great plan that, seeing as he’s chained to a wall and stripped of anything more dangerous than a chamber pot.” Nori snaps.

“This is getting us nowhere.” Balin tries to interject reasonably but Thorin ignores him.

“You said yourself he’s second only to you, Nori. Who’s to say he hasn’t planted something in that very cell to hurt me with once I deign to go and meet him?”

“He’d have a hard time even getting you in the cell what with how big your damned head is!”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“You’re ignoring the fact that he’s trying to help us!”

“Oh yes, sneaking into Bilbo’s rooms at night just screams trustworthiness, my mistake.”

“He didn’t hurt him!”

“He easily could have and almost did!” Thorin’s fists clenches. “Do you value Bilbo’s life so little?”

“Thorin!” Bilbo gasps. “Stop it! I mean it.”

But even that doesn’t make Thorin look away from Nori’s face, which is hard and full of disgust. “Bilbo knows how I feel about him, Your Majesty. Some of us don’t have a problem telling him the truth.”

This time it is Thorin who flinches at the words, and Bilbo lets out an unhappy noise. Balin speaks up again.

“Now that’s quite enough.”

“Yes, Balin, you’re right.” Bilbo sounds so angry that he commands the attention of all of them. It makes something apologetic pass over Nori’s face and Thorin feels a brief moment of shame. “You two are being ridiculous, and obviously beyond listening to reason. Until you do, I would ask that you kindly keep me out of your stupid squabbling. As it is, I see no reason to let you both continue wasting my time.”

“Bilbo-” Both Nori and Thorin speak at once, with Thorin going so far as to reach out to try and stop the Hobbit from leaving, but he is shrugged off immediately.

There is some solace from the fact that Bilbo goes past Balin to move back into Thorin’s living room, but not much. He feels regret well up in him, and as the door closes behind Bilbo he turns back to Nori.

“You need to apologize to him.”

“Oh I will. But out of the two of us I’m not the one who owes him the most apologies.”

“Enough.” Dwalin snarls and shakes his head. “Bilbo is right, you’re both acting like fools. Get your heads out of your arses and listen to each other, dammit.”

“You would know all about having your head up your ass.” Nori mutters and Dwalin’s eyes narrow.

“You fool,” he replies quietly, tiredly, and Nori finally looks up at him in surprise at the sudden disappearance of Dwalin’s anger. “Bilbo’s right, you’re both doing nothing but wasting our time. I’m off to wait with him until this pissing contest is over and I’m actually needed.”

“I haven’t dismissed you-”

“Consider this my dismissal,” Dwalin replies and makes a rude gesture to Thorin in _Iglishmêk_ before yanking open the same door Bilbo had and stomping away to close it with a slam.

Thorin stares after him in total astonishment. What is happening to everybody around him?

“Fine,” he turns abruptly back to Nori and Balin. The former looks even unhappier than before, and Balin is glaring at them both so hard Thorin isn’t sure he isn’t wishing them both extreme pain. Thorin brings them all back to the topic at hand.

“The point still stands, Nori. We can’t trust him.”

“Do you know what his kill rate is?” Nori seethes, making Thorin snap his mouth shut. “Do you know the people he’s been tasked with taking care of, from common thieves and rapists, to the highest of nobles? He has no qualms about killing, Thorin, except for his own moral compass. And like you said, there was nobody to stop him last night. There didn’t need to be, because he stopped himself. Why did he do that?”

The question makes Thorin stop as he tries to find the answer. He realizes he doesn’t have it.

“You tell me,” he requests instead in a low voice. “Since you’re such good friends.”

“I don’t know either. But I’d like to. And I’m sure you would too.” Brown eyes move around the room to take in both him and Balin. “He wants to talk to you. I think that means he has something to say. Maybe that’s among them.”

“Does it really matter?” Thorin pushes the idea aside to ponder later. “His motives don’t make much of a different when he’ll die in the end all the same.”

Nori blanches. “You aren’t still planning on killing him?”

“Nothing has happened to make me change my mind.”

“Thorin come on!” Nori pushes off the wall completely to take a few steps towards him. “What has he actually done?”

“You’ve just finished telling me he is responsible for countless deaths.” Thorin shrugs. “If we must use them as the official reason it makes no difference to me.”

“I’m asking you to think about this logically.” Nori actually sounds desperate, which is a rarity for the normally well-controlled Dwarf. “He didn’t hurt anybody. In fact he’s doing us all a huge favour.”

“Don’t allow your personal feelings to cloud your judgement on this, Nori.”

“Don’t allow yours! If it had been anybody else but Bilbo you wouldn’t be so stubborn about this!” Nori says passionately and now Balin is watching him warily. Thorin tenses. Even Nori catches himself and pales a bit, eyes widening as he works to regain composure. “Please, Thorin, if I was ever any help to you on the quest, if you trust me even a bit, listen to me on this. He’s valuable and a good Dwarf.”

“He might be.” Thorin says, refusing to show how conflicted he really feels. “But he came too close to hurting Bilbo, Nori.” He makes an effort to soften his voice. “Think if it was Dwalin in Bilbo’s place. Would you truly not want to see the threat punished?”

Nori’s lips thin. “Punished yes. But not killed. Not when he didn’t even touch him.”

“He assaulted Bilbo’s guard.” Balin reminds them, though he does sound regretful. “Whatever changed his mind, it didn’t happen until he reached Bilbo himself. That is a big risk to allow to stay alive.”

Nori is shaking his head. “None of you know him. You don’t understand, he’s not- he’s a good Dwarf. Ask Dori and Ori if you don’t believe me.” His small smile is pained. “They’ve met him, he’s slept on our floor before.”

“Nori I don’t want to hear any more.” Thorin breaks in. “You can’t erase what he was hired to do.”

“And you can’t condemn him to death for choosing not to do it!” Nori’s teeth clench. “If he had actually hurt Bilbo you would be giving him the same punishment. Where is the justice in that?”

“If he had hurt Bilbo he would already be dead.”

The words are a promise, spoken seriously, and Nori rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. Balin sighs and tries to bring them back around.

“It’s a tricky situation but one that needs dealt with. What are we to do?”

“Why even talk about it when our king here has already made up his mind?” Nori huffs. “I suppose the trial will be rigged? Overseen by and heavily influenced by yourself?”

“There’s no need for me to buy a jury when the answer is so obvious. He is a threat and needs to be dealt with.”

“And me?” Nori asks quietly, their eyes holding. “If I hadn’t been on our quest, would I also have been _dealt with_ when I came to Erebor with my family? If I ever cross whatever line you’ve drawn and disagree with you too much, can I also expect to be _dealt with_?”

“Nori don’t speak such nonsense.” Balin chastises, looking and sounding horrified. “And Thorin calm yourself down, right now. Your tempers have gotten away with you and you’ve both said things you’ll regret later.”

Thorin breathes in deeply and moves past the horrible question Nori has put his way. It takes more effort to push away the even worse answer that had immediately sprung to mind, but he does.

“Balin is right. Nori, I have listened to you, but I cannot agree with you. I need to protect this kingdom by doing what I think is right, even when my friends disagree, and right now Alto is a threat to it.”

For a few seconds Nori stares at him, chest rising and falling quickly, before all at once nodding as all the fight seems to leech from his body. “I can see why you think that, knowing only what you do of him. But please, Thorin. When you meet with him listen to what he has to say. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Thorin turns around and clasps his hands behind his back to think. A few seconds pass before he turns back to his friend. “For you I will listen to what he has to say. But for now his sentence still stands.”

The words don’t make Nori look happy. But at least there is no more shouting as he moves to sink down in the chair across from Thorin’s desk.

“Best ask them to come back in.” Nori jerks his head towards the door behind Balin. “Neither of them will be happy if we exclude them entirely.”

“I’ll go.” Thorin says, surprising the other two, and goes to re-renter his own chambers.

He isn’t entirely surprised to see Dwalin and Bilbo leaning towards one another in conversation. It seems Bilbo manages to bring everybody into his confidence lately, and as soon as the door opens Thorin sees Dwalin’s mouth snap shut and both of them lean away to give a façade of casualness and hide the intense discussion they’d been having.

Thorin has no right to ask and so he doesn’t, instead tiredly meeting their stares. “We’re sorry. Both of you were right. Do you still want to be involved in the planning?”

Later he will apologize to them both properly, and separately, but now they need to sort this out. And the two of them are right, he has already wasted enough time with Nori when they could have been sorting out more pressing details.

It’s unsurprising that neither of them look happy at his words, but they both get up silently and move towards him. He steps back, holding the door open, and slips back into the room and closes it behind them all.

Dwalin goes to stand near his brother and the two share a look Thorin can’t decipher. Bilbo hesitates before moving to sit in the chair beside Nori’s.

Nori bends towards him to speak quietly and Thorin just barely catches the words. “I hope he apologized. You were right, I’m sorry for what I said. You can speak for yourself.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo’s response is a murmur and Thorin settles to stand behind his desk again. “For what it’s worth I agree with you. I want Alto spared.”

“Convince that king of ours then please.” Nori sounds exhausted too. “I suspect you’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

“I’ve tried-”

“Right.” Thorin speaks over them all and draws their attention back to him. “We have a plan for trapping Alto’s benefactor.”

Maybe Thorin shouldn’t be so surprised in how readily they all agree to the idea before they set to working out its finer points. The only serious objection is Dwalin’s for Thorin’s safety, but once he’s reminded his old friend of the other more serious dangers he’s survived, the Dwarf reluctantly agrees.

Finally there is nothing stopping them.

“Time to go to the dungeons then?” Balin asks.

Nori jumps up quickly and Dwalin scowls harder than ever. Bilbo is slower, but still rises rather than answering with words. Dwalin pushes off of the wall.

Thorin rests his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Bilbo, grab Sting.”

For a second the Hobbit looks like he’ll object, but then seems to think better of it, likely realizing it’s a harmless request even if he doesn’t personally see the need for it. At least Thorin will be a little more at ease.

“You could ask rather than command,” Bilbo grumbles but rolls his eyes. “But fine. I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

He leaves and Thorin looks at the others. Balin and Nori have to come but Dwalin looks like he needs some space and sleep.

“Take the day, Dwalin.” He makes sure his voice is commanding rather than softer than usual. Dwalin would bristle at being given special treatment or pity when it comes to his job.

As it is, he still looks thunderous at the suggestion. “You’re out of yer mind.”

“I mean it. Lila will come with me instead. And we are all experienced fighters.”

“No.”

“We’ll be surrounded by guards,” he says in exasperation. “You need sleep. Get it now, when it makes sense for you to do it.”

“Thorin-”

“He’s right, brother.”

Dwalin looks at Balin in betrayal, then Thorin, and finally settles on Nori to see how he feels. Their eyes hold and Nori speaks more softly to him than he has all morning.

“You’re exhausted. Get some rest. I- we’ll tell you everything as soon as we see you.”

Dwalin stares at him a beat too long before turning away. “Fine. But don’t think I’m not coming to find you as soon as I wake up.”

“We would expect nothing less,” Thorin agrees. “Now let’s go.”

Dwalin stomps off from them in the hallway just as Bilbo comes out from his rooms with his sword. Thorin gestures to Lila and she walks with them, along with Bilbo’s temporary guard and a few extra Dwarrows that Dwalin has assigned to stay with Thorin for the next few days, just in case.

Nori and Balin fall into step behind them, talking between themselves. Thorin hears “-we disagreed last night, that’s all,” and Balin’s answering murmur before Bilbo brushes against his side.

“Ready?” The Hobbit asks him.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” He grumbles. They walk a few steps before Thorin looks over at him again, unable to help himself. “I find it amazing how well you’re handling all of this.”

“Amazing or stupid.” Bilbo sighs. “Here’s hoping it’s the former.”

Thorin falls quiet for a moment. “Your kindness is never stupid, Bilbo. The stupidity comes from those who are too foolish to accept and appreciate it.” He sighs too. “I admire you for your position but this… I cannot be kind about this.”

“Your capacity for kindness is greater than you think.” Bilbo nudges him again gently. “But I understand. We’ll speak to Alto and re-evaluate then if we have to.”

Thorin feels his mouth quirk. “You are an optimist.”

“More pragmatic I think,” Bilbo replies primly.

“Maybe.” He concedes. “And I hope you’re right. But I don’t see what he could possibly say to convince me that he’s not a threat.”

“Listen to him and then make up your own mind.” Bilbo says. “That’s all you can do.”

He glances back, the clank of his guards’ armor leading their way. “There are already two people who will be disappointed if I want him put to death.”

“Yes.” Bilbo admits. “Maybe you should listen to us too.”

He frowns. “I have listened.”

“Thorin, you’ve worried and made up your mind before hearing a single thing we’ve said.” Bilbo cocks his head. “And I understand why. But you can’t let your emotions cloud your judgement when it’s another Dwarf’s life that’s at stake.”

He’s quiet for a long time and only belatedly realizes that they are headed down into the recesses of Erebor rather than up.

Bilbo sees the surprise on his face. “What?”

“We are going to the main dungeons.” He answers. “I thought Dwalin would have put him in the high cells instead.”

“High cells?”

He nods. “Erebor has two prisons. Our main dungeons are large enough for the majority of our prisoners and located deep in Erebor’s core. A couple of those cells are completely black, with no light at all, but most are simple. The solitary dark cells are for the worse criminals. But then there are the high cells on the side of the mountain. They’re nothing but a small ledge of rock that opens out to open air and overlook a steep fall down the mountainside.”

The position of the cells are on the sharpest fall of the mountain, one area that does not gently slope down but rather has been shorn away by nature. Anyone who was to fall from the cell’s open ledge would be falling to their death.

Bilbo’s eyes widen. “They aren’t walled in?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It terrifies Dwarves far more than being locked in an ordinary dungeon. We don’t do well with open space.”

“That’s inhumane!”

“Peace, Bilbo. It is only our absolute worst criminals who are sent there, and their stays are always short.”

Thorin does not say that as far as he knows there has never been a Dwarf who chose to throw themselves from the ledge. Most Dwarves choose exile or execution over that.

“Still.” He looks uncomfortable and Thorin needs to remind himself that Bilbo is from the Shire, born and raised, and is used to peace and decency. It must be strange to think that even outside of times of war drastic measures must be taken at times.

“None are occupied now.” He tries to reassure him.

Bilbo only nods, lips pursed as he is lost in thought.

He cannot think of anything else to say to distract him that won’t make it worse so instead he turns to look forward. Balin comes beside him briefly and Nori waves Bilbo back so the two of them can walk together.

“You do have several other things that need looking at.” Balin reminds him and Thorin grunts.

“Are you saying they cannot wait until later? Is this not important too?”

His friend shakes his head in fond resignation. “Don’t ask me. I’ve decided to stay out of this ridiculousness.”

“I hardly think dealing with an assassin is a waste of my time.”

“I agree. And I didn’t say a waste of your time, I said ridiculousness. Because Alto is not what I was speaking of.”

“What then?”

Balin’s significant look from Thorin to Bilbo is telling. “I’m doing my best not to get involved.’

Thorin lets out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Since when?”

“Since the two of you began behaving like fools around one another when we all know how things will end up anyway.”

Any humor he feels vanishes. “Nothing has been decided, Balin.”

“So him coming from your chambers this morning was nothing, was it?”

It isn’t, but Balin won’t understand. “Nothing worth concerning yourself with, anyway.”

“Hmm. I’ve heard that before. It seems like you’re both just wasting time at this point.” Thorin glares but Balin meets his stare head on. “I saw the two of you last night, Thorin. Everyone that was there saw how you both reacted.”

“His life was in danger. If you all find fault with me for that then you are more heartless than I knew.”

“Nobody’s faulting either of you,” Balin says softly. “But it’s obvious you still care for each other. Both of you.”

Thorin clears his throat. “Now is not the time.”

“No.” Balin agrees.

“And besides, that is not what I was referring to earlier either. I meant it’s important for me to interrogate a prisoner and keep justice in the realm.”

“Of course you did.” Is the skeptical answer. “Given that Dwalin interrogated him thoroughly last night I can’t say I fully believe you.”

“If I had been allowed to be present-”

“You would have lost your temper and hurt the lad, more likely than not. Dwalin and Nori told you everything that was said.”

Thorin accepts that silently. He is more concerned with Nori’s theory. “Do you really think he will reveal anything new to me?”

“I don’t know. But you need to be careful with what you say.”

“That is why Nori will be with me. He knows Alto and should be able to predict many of his tricks.”

“Yes, and so he can stop you if you begin to reveal anything dangerous. I was the one who suggested we take this measure if you remember.”

“Right.” Thorin’s mouth thins. “What do you think of it all Balin?”

Balin is quiet a long time and their robes skim the ground as they make their way down to the deepest parts of Erebor to get to the dungeons.

“Truthfully Thorin I’m conflicted. I don’t know what to make of it.”

His frustration mounts. “That seems to be common among us. Only Bilbo and Nori have their minds made up, and that is to let him go.”

“And I can see their point.” Balin agrees. “But the breach of security and Alto’s initial intentions cannot be ignored. And until we have the real culprit proven to be guilty and punished, I do not like to show lenience to our biggest suspect.”

“I agree.”

Any quiet they could have had was broken by Hugin’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs. They all halt in surprise while watching as the Dwarf snaps at the servant next to him.

“Don’t you give me that, I need to see him! This cannot wait!”

It is only because Thorin moves closer to Bilbo that he feels the Hobbit freeze. When he glances down at him he has to do a double take, because he cannot remember ever seeing Bilbo so obviously afraid, not even when Thorin was bleeding out on Ravenhill and Bilbo was frantically trying to hold him together.

His decision to move forward and shield Bilbo isn’t a conscious one, but Thorin manages to play it off as if he is moving closer to Hugin to begin a conversation, rather than intentionally putting himself in between the Dwarf lord and Bilbo.

The things he feels at the sight of Hugin are ugly, and it takes absolutely everything in Thorin to stop from attacking him like he had with Alto last night. His hand goes to his sword instinctively, but he takes pains not to draw it, and instead lets his arm hang at his side.

“Hugin.” He adopts a curious tone, though this had been what they were all counting on. He is surprised it has come so soon. “I did not expect to see you on this level today.”

He glances at the terrified servant by Hugin’s side and her head dips in a trembling sign of respect as she clutches a swathe of papers to her chest.

“Your Majesty!” Hugin’s black eyes widen and he stammers a bit. Thorin is obviously not who he had expected to run into here. “I- that is- I had hoped to get an audience with you.”

“With me?” Thorin repeats. “I am sorry, I have pressing matters to attend to at present. It will have to wait.”

Hugin looks past him to the numerous guards. Thorin would never have noticed the slight sheen that breaks out across his skin if he wasn’t looking for signs of nerves. But he is looking, and so he sees as clear as anything when Hugin finally sees Balin, Nori and Bilbo, and a sweep of disgust followed by fear distorts his face.

This all happens within the span of a second or two, and then those dark eyes snap back to Thorin. “Sire, it cannot. There is a prisoner within your dungeons-”

Thorin’s smile is sharp as Hugin’s words serve as all the confirmation he needs. There will be more proof soon, he tells himself, but whatever lingering doubts or hopes he had of Hugin’s innocence disappear in that moment.

Hugin falters at his expression but perseveres. “-erm, that is, taken to the dungeons last night and I was hoping I could speak to you about the matter.” He briefly glances past Thorin at Bilbo again. “Alone.”

“What a coincidence, I am just on my way to speak with that very criminal. He has asked for an audience and my advisors have counseled me into accepting it.” He hopes his glower can be mistaken by Hugin as caused by the thought of Alto in the dungeons and not because of any ill-will against Hugin himself. “What interest do you have in his case?”

“Oh.”

Again Hugin’s eyes rove the full staircase and catalogue its occupants. The lack of eye-contact is unlike the Dwarf and his usual arrogance.

“I know the Dwarf and had hoped you would let me deal with him rather than involve yourself unnecessarily in such matters.” His oily grin is cruel and Thorin stares back unimpressed. The signs seem so obvious now that he knows to look for them. “I can promise you our relationship would not stop me in dealing with him in whatever way seen fit, even if his execution is called for.”

“A generous offer.” Thorin notes without meaning it. “Though unusual. You do not usually concern yourself in Erebor’s security.”

“As I said, I know the Dwarf. He has wronged me in the past, though I could never prove it, and I would like to see him punished.”

“Ah.” Thorin is surprised at the lack of planning Hugin has put into his excuses. Though perhaps the other Dwarf is surprised by Thorin dealing with Alto so directly so soon. “It would be a poor system if I allowed my lords to interfere in our legal cases purely because of their vendettas, Hugin.”

The look on the other Dwarf’s face is ugly and Thorin feels a small bit of satisfaction at the sight. “Of course, your majesty, though I assure you I will be completely impartial-”

“If you feel the need to discuss this further you must set up an appointment with me through Balin.” Thorin steps aside and gestures for Bilbo to go on after nodding towards his guards to keep moving. “As for now, I must get going, I have a busy day and do not wish to linger with this prisoner.”

“Y-yes, as you say sire. May I accompany you, if it is not too much trouble?”

“Oh, I hardly think that would be wise, Hugin.” He says. “You have just admitted to having a grudge against him, I shouldn’t let you anywhere nearby.”

He enjoys seeing the panic his words produce far too much.

“Now you must excuse us-”

“I will walk with you!” Hugin interrupts, and Lila’s armor creaks as she shifts unhappily. Thorin only feels a petty joy at seeing the wretch squirm so obviously. “I have business down near the dungeons myself and would be happy to walk with you until I am needed elsewhere.”

At this point Thorin is too impatient to say no again. It is obvious Hugin isn’t accepting it as his answer. “Very well.”

He is pleased when his guards don’t part to let Hugin stand with him, and he is even more pleased when he is able to maneuver so that he is also between Hugin and Bilbo. Bilbo still looks shaken, and Thorin remembers his confession last night of how terrified he had really been. His hand comes up to rest on Orcrist but when Nori and Balin move up to help shield Bilbo as well he allows it to fall back at his side.

Hugin’s serving girl drops back to walk behind him, her head down. She is young, he notes, to be working so closely alone with him.

Without greeting any of the others Hugin speaks to Thorin again. “What is his charge, if I may ask?”

“Nothing yet.” Thorin stares ahead. “He was found armed in our hallway with no reason to be there.”

Bilbo’s room is down at the far end of nobles’ hallway, away from the royal family members’ chambers, and therefore lacking any guards at their posts nearby. Alto had dressed like a servant and snuck around so successfully that the regular patrols had failed to pick him out, and Feri had been unconscious by the time Alto had dragged him into Bilbo’s chambers and left him sitting against the wall, thus unable to sound an alarm. And nobody else had been disturbed, not Bofur, any other member of the Company or any of Thorin’s family.

But Thorin and the others have decided, until the true culprit is caught, the story they will tell anybody who asks is that Alto had been found before he even got in Bilbo’s room. Not only does this make Alto seem more incompetent than he really is, and thus an incentive for Hugin to get rid of him even faster, it also means Hugin will be more confident that none of them knew what Alto’s true mission was. Hopefully that will give him enough false security to make him likely to try again.

“Really? How suspicious.”

“Hmm.” Thorin agrees. “He had several darts of a sedative on his person and some blades, so we have been suitably cautious.”

“As you should.” Hugin sounds much more comfortable now, back to his patronizing and placating self. “And you have no idea what he was doing there?”

“I have been told he is a petty thief and nothing more.” Thorin dismisses casually. “And so his proximity to our quarters is troubling. But Nori will be able to get more out of him than anybody in Erebor. I am not concerned.”

“Not concerned, no, it sounds like nothing more than a child’s attempt at thievery.” Hugin agrees. “Hardly worth you going down and getting involved yourself.”

Thorin shrugs. “I am only following the advice of others. It will not take long.”

“Of course, of course.” Now Hugin looks past Lila and Thorin to Bilbo. “And Master Baggins, I don’t believe we’ve spoken since you returned. How happy we all are to have you back.”

“I’ve seen you plenty of times in hallways and the markets, Lord Hugin.” Bilbo’s words are sharp and he, like Thorin, barely spares the Dwarf a glance, instead looking straight ahead. “Though I think you were always so busy you never heard me when I tried to say hello.”

“Ah, that must have been the case.” Hugin swiftly agrees. “I apologize for my lack of manners.”

“We each have busy lives.”

“Exactly, exactly,” Hugin’s head bobs. “That is why it surprises me you are involved in these matters as well!”

“Funnily enough it was my chambers the thief was found outside of.” Bilbo says conversationally, only sparing the briefest of seconds to see Hugin’s reaction. “And though it was just due to a mistake in planning, I’m sure, I still thought it best to get to the bottom of it.”

“If this does indeed concern Bilbo then he has a right to know as soon as possible.” Thorin adds. “Do you not agree, Hugin?”

“Oh yes, it would be inconceivable to leave _Master Baggins_ in the dark about such matters.” Hugin’s reply makes Thorin grit his teeth.

He does not know how much of his actions the council keeps track of, or of what rumours are spreading throughout Erebor at Bilbo’s return, but it is obvious Hugin isn’t pleased to see Thorin with Bilbo again. Nor is the obvious familiarity and ease between them a welcome sight, apparently.

Luckily by that time they make it to the cold depths of Erebor. The only light is from torches hung on braziers and sconces along the wall, and a patrol of armed guards walking in tight formation go by, not even pausing to acknowledge Thorin’s presence.

Dwalin would have been proud at their dedication to their duties.

“Well.” He stops at the first of the cells. “Here is where you leave us, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes.” Hugin starts and Thorin sees his servant look at him timidly. She hasn’t said a word the entire walk and when Hugin jerks in her direction the king sees her flinch, the folio of papers in her hand crinkling slightly as her hands clench.

He doesn’t like it.

“I must speak with Freya first,” Thorin says blithely, turning away from Hugin but speaking for his benefit. Freya is in charge of the dungeons. “To see about the prisoner’s guards and behaviour. She will be in the guards’ quarters. It should not take longer than five or ten minutes, will you all accompany me?”

“Of course.” Bilbo agrees and Balin and Nori nod.

Thorin turns back to Hugin. “Until later, Hugin.”

“Yes,” there is a new gleam in the nobles’ eyes. “I will make an appointment to speak with you soon, sire.”

Thorin nods and moves with the others in the direction of the guards’ quarters. Once they turn the first corner they stop. Thorin sends their guards on ahead to create the sound of footsteps for Hugin’s benefit, and Nori peeks around the corner.

The back of his head of hair is what Thorin watches as the thief nods before turning to face Bilbo, Balin and him. “Well he’s not leaving,” he whispers and then turns back to look again. A few seconds pass and the sound of muted voices meets their eyes. Nori tenses.

“A guard just showed up. They’re talking.”

Thorin frowns, about to move forward to look himself, when he feels someone come up next to him.

“Move,” Balin requests to Nori gently and takes his place, looking at Hugin. He doesn’t audibly react but Thorin sees his shoulders slump slightly before his old friend turns around to look at him. “It’s Sazeed.”

The information shocks Thorin. Sazeed is not a high-ranking guard but he is well enough known that Thorin recognizes Sazeed’s name. There had been a death in his family several years ago, if he wasn’t mistaken. Something unusual during the Battle of the Five Armies. Thorin had heard of it through Dáin or Balin but it had been resolved without him needing to get directly involved.

As far as he knows, Sazeed came from the Iron Hills, and after the Battle he has remained in Erebor without any further problems.

Balin’s expression when he turns back around to them all makes Thorin wonder if that is entirely true.

“They’re going to Alto’s cell.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s quite brazen.”

Balin shrugs and steps back.

Thorin jerks his head at Nori who nods and quickly moves to follow the trio without making a sound.

Balin’s eyebrows furrow as the three of them stay. “Is this enough proof?”

“I am satisfied.” Thorin rubs his beard, deep in thought. “Though perhaps the Council will want more.”

“I would.” Bilbo says, drawing their eyes. “If the punishment you want to give him is death or exile, and if that is as horrible as you all say, then I would not want to condemn him on so little proof. Besides, many of the Dwarves on the Council are friends with Hugin. You’ll need something more, more than hearsay, something that they can’t deny.”

“Hugin might confess under interrogation.” Thorin suggests, mouth curling in disgust. “Especially if he thinks it will help him in some way.”

They could offer a lighter sentence in return for the truth, though Thorin doesn’t like such tactics. He is struggling enough to make his word worth something again already in his kingdom and throughout Middle Earth, after his refusal to honour it in his gold sickness.

“We’ll have to keep thinking. Maybe Nori will see something. And this way other guards will see that Hugin has come here to visit himself. That will back up our story.”

Thorin nods but he isn’t happy. Perhaps when Hugin came to see him he would slip up. Maybe he was making a mistake right now.

“Let’s go.”

They do visit Freya quickly. Dwalin has already told her everything that is going on and she is more than happy to allow Thorin and the others to do whatever they deem necessary.

“Dwalin said he had no issues with him last night and I’d have to agree with him.” Freya crosses her arms as she speaks. Her hair is tightly braided against her head to keep it away from her face and her green eyes look at them all determinedly. “Not a peep out of him.”

“No movement?”

“None.” She looks back at Balin. “We know he’s… skilled. Dwalin made it clear we need to watch him closely.”

“And the guards on duty?”

“Picked by Dwalin himself. They’ll finish their shift at lunch.”

“There’s a Dwarf-lord down there right now visiting him-”

“Hugin.” Freya nods knowingly again, answering Bilbo. “Dwalin warned us of that. Said to let them speak but report all that was said. They have no way of knowing that the room behind Alto’s cell shares its vent, so any conversations are easily overheard.”

Thorin takes all of this in, feeling a twinge of guilt. He had been harsh on Dwalin earlier but now it seems that his friend has done far more than Thorin could have predicted.

“So you have ways of surveying the room and listening to anything said in it?” Balin checks.

“Only a few cells were made for that purpose, my lord.” Freya replies. “Your brother made sure we put the prisoner in one of them.”

“Does Nori know?” Bilbo asks.

Freya hesitates, a brief look of displeasure crossing her face. “I suspect he does,” she says slowly. “There’s not much about these dungeons he doesn’t know, despite our best effort.”

“The important question is whether Hugin will know.” Thorin rumbles. “If he does then anything he says or does in that cell is suspect and cannot be trusted because it will all be for show.”

The others agree.

“Thank you, Freya.” Thorin nods at her as he makes to leave. Bilbo and Balin follow suit. “Let us know if there’s anything unusual.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She bows just as Lila knocks and opens the door.

“They’re gone.” She says after a quick glance at the dungeon master. “Nori said to tell you to come.”

Thorin nods again. It is time for him to talk to the prisoner.

He hopes it won’t be a complete disaster.

* * *

Nori’s waiting for them about halfway between Freya’s office and the cell Alto is being kept in. He’s frowning and worrying his lower lip but staring across the hallway to the other wall blankly, lost in thought.

Thorin breaks him out of that quickly by asking, “well?”

Nori looks troubled. “I’m not sure.”

Thorin feels so frustrated he nearly hits something.

“ _Nori_ ,” Bilbo demands, surprising them all. “What did they say?”

“Alto didn’t say much.” Nori worries his lip. “And Hugin… he was threatening him mostly. I think he believes that Alto won’t give him away.”

“Did the guards let him into the cell?”

“Yes.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Sazeed was with him and told them to take a five minute break for Hugin to speak with Alto. Said that it was Freya’s orders.”

Thorin’s concern rises. “I hope they fought that.”

“They did, but Hugin threatened them. Said he’d make sure they were fired for not following orders, that sort of thing. They left, but they went to the room behind the cell.” His eyes go to Bilbo. “You might not know Bilbo, but this cell can be spied on-”

“Yes, yes I know that!” Bilbo hurries him.

“Tell us exactly Nori, quickly.” Balin urges the conversation on.

The thief shrugs. “Sazeed was keeping watch, but did a piss-poor job of it. Hugin didn’t make any effort to be quiet.”

“And?” Balin’s frustration spills over.

“It was just a lot of Hugin threatening him really. He didn’t seem too concerned. I think speaking to you put him at ease. And he didn’t say anything outright that would make anyone else suspicious. It just looked like a noble coming down to threaten and insult a prisoner for kicks.”

Thorin frowns. “That seems suspicious enough to me.”

“Please.” Nori scoffs. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He opens his mouth to ask but Balin shakes his head and Nori, ignoring Bilbo and Thorin’s troubled looks, continues.

“He seems to think his threats are enough to keep Alto quiet. And he promised to try and do his best to make sure Alto’s released, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to happen.” He shrugs. “It’s hard to say.”

But Nori seems too troubled for that to be all.

“What else?” Bilbo asks him and Thorin watches their friend closely. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Nori’s mouth works before he eventually meets Thorin’s gaze. “I think he’s going to try and have Alto killed. Whether through the trial or by more… ambiguous means. If I was him, I wouldn’t allow Alto to live, no matter what he said. The risk would be too great. He’s reassured Alto to his face, but as soon as the opportunity comes Hugin will do his best to get rid of him.”

“Yes, that’s my thoughts as well.” Balin agrees, looking unhappy.

“Surely he’ll be safest here,” Bilbo looks around at them all. “With the guards and cell security and such?”

But Thorin isn’t so sure. The knowledge that they have guards who are really working for Hugin troubles him, as does the fact that Hugin had felt confident enough to come and speak with Alto directly under Thorin’s nose. He knows the other Dwarf is arrogant, but this exceeds that. Hugin must be secure enough in his position to feel he will be able to get away with all of this.

Nobody answers Bilbo and Thorin sees his face fall. He longs to try and reassure him but they don’t have the time and honestly he isn’t sure what he can say.

“Let’s go,” he says instead, tearing his eyes away from Bilbo to lead them to the once-more guarded cell.

Alto is not a pretty sight.

His hair is unkempt from last night and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. There is a slightly discolour around his neck and Thorin knows if he was to put his hands around it the bruises will match perfectly.

Instead he clasps them tightly behind his back.

Alto is dressed in a simple white prisoner shirt and brown breeches. Thorin knows that he was stripped and searched, as all threatening prisoners are, but the new clothes don’t provide much warmth in the center of the mountain, far from the boilers and main heat. Nori in particular seems to focus on seeing his friend’s bare feet against the undoubtedly cold stone of the floor and it almost makes Thorin feel a twinge of sympathy.

They file into the room with Lila going first, and the rest of Thorin’s guards wait outside. Thorin moves to stand closest to Alto with Lila watching from the prisoner’s other side, her gaze missing nothing. Those green eyes of the chained Dwarf are fixed on him and he tries to hide his curiosity.

Alto unnerves him, not only because of his obvious skill set, but because he seems so calm despite being the one currently chained to the wall in a room with no furniture except a chamber pot. Thorin gets the impression that, out of the two of them, it is himself who is at the biggest disadvantage, and he despises the feeling.

Just as Balin is opening his mouth, and only seconds after they’ve shut the door behind them, does a knock sound. Balin’s mouth snaps shut in surprise as Thorin turns from Alto to see what is going on.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, sire.” Jardu pokes his helmeted head in from outside the cell. “Lord Hugin’s servant is here, she says she forgot some papers.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty.” The voice is faint and she is obviously nervous as the door widens to show her waiting. Her head is ducked so far that she won’t even meet Thorin’s eyes.

They all look over to see the bundle of papers sitting innocently on the floor by the door. Thorin frowns, wondering why in all of Arda she would have put them down in this room in the first place. Is Hugin too wrapped up in his believed victory to see that this is confirmation he came to visit Alto? Or has his servant given him an excuse so her master wouldn’t find out?

“Very well.” He says cautiously and the guards move away to let her pass. She swoops down to grab the leather binder. However her hands fumble as she moves to stand again and papers fly out of the book to make a mess at her feet.

“I’m so sorry!” She gasps, all of the blood draining from her face. Her hands shake as she falls to her knees and scrabbles to pull the papers back in order.

“It’s alright.” Bilbo replies watching her closely. Thorin moves too slowly to stop him as the Hobbit goes to kneel and help her.

“Here.” Bilbo says quietly, handing back the last of the pages. Thorin sees their hands brush, notes the way the serving girl looks at the Hobbit, and his eyes narrow.

Their gaze holds long enough for the rest of them to notice in the silence. She looks shocked and her breath catches at the gentle contact with Bilbo, which makes Thorin frown. Her big brown eyes are wide and watching Bilbo with a gratefulness that seems over the top in return for him simply helping her with some spilled paper.

“Thank you.” The words are barely a whisper as she takes the sheaf of parchment and tucks it in the portfolio. Then with one last scared look around the room at the rest of them she turns and hurries away.

Bilbo rises back up with a concerned frown.

“Watch her.” Alto says lowly to Thorin, breaking into his thoughts.

He looks over sharply. “What?”

But Alto meets his eyes and keeps his lips firmly shut.

“Why? What do you mean?” He snaps at Alto again but the Dwarf remains quiet.

“What was that, Thorin?” Balin inquires innocently as he moves towards them to hear better.

He doesn’t look away from Alto, hating the knowing look in the thief’s eyes.

_Watch her_. What is that meant to mean? Had Alto seen the way she behaved around Bilbo and is now suspicious of something? Is it a warning of some sort? Can she be dangerous?

Or perhaps she is simply interested in Bilbo and Alto is alerting Thorin to a possible rival for the Hobbit’s affections?

He shakes his head, teeth grit as irritation wells up in him all over again. It’s probably nothing but Alto trying to mess with Thorin’s head. For all he knows, Alto could be involved in a plan of Hugin’s.

Thorin will be damned if he lets it work.

“Nothing Balin.” He answers, still watching the thief chained to the wall. His tone is anything but friendly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Balin frowns but nods as they all gather to stand closer to the prisoner.

“What did Hugin say to you?”

The prisoner takes them all in slowly, eyes drifting from Dwarf to Dwarf before settling on Bilbo. “Are you alright, Master Hobbit?”

“Answer the question.” Thorin says through gritted teeth, ignoring the look Bilbo shoots him.

“I’m fine, Alto, thank you.” Bilbo replies kindly. “Though you seem like you could be better.”

“Ah, I’ve been in worse conditions than this.” The Dwarf aims a pointed look at Thorin and Balin.

“These chains shouldn’t be necessary now that Hugin has been and gone.” Nori points out but Thorin holds a hand up to stop him moving.

Of course he has a pick of some sort on his person. Thorin shouldn’t be surprised.

“Touch nothing.”

Nori’s face settles in displeasure but he takes a step back to stand beside Bilbo once more.

“Now.” Balin takes over kindly, voice purposely light. “Alto we won’t waste time. Dwalin told us you’re aware of the role we require of you and we have just seen Hugin leaving your cell. Have you done what we asked?”

Alto holds Balin’s stare for a few seconds before slowly nodding.

Balin smiles. “Thank you, laddie. Now, we need to know what was said.”

“Posturing threats and bluster,” Alto replies. “Nothing more.”

“Come on, Alto,” Nori says knowingly. “Exact words. I know you made the effort to remember them.”

“Mmm.” Alto looks at his old friend, glancing quickly at Bilbo beside him, before he rolls his eyes. “Fine. He asked whether I recognized him. When I said yes, that he was on the King’s Council, he seemed pleased. Pretty sure he believes I don’t know that he’s the Dwarf who hired me. Then he said he could help me out, do me a favour and get me out of here right under your noses. I pretended to be interested in that, but I asked why he would help a prisoner and all he said was that we had common goals.”

Thorin’s eyes narrow again. “What else?”

“Well I said I was interested, and he said he would be back, that he had people he could trust in the guard who would make sure we weren’t disturbed while working out the rest. Then he left.”

“Does he mean to hire you again?” Balin asks. “Did he say anything about payment?”

“No but it seems clear that’s what he’s hoping, to give me a second chance. I doubt he’d free me for nothing.”

When Thorin looks at Bilbo he sees him frowning.

“That’s it?” Nori asks disbelievingly.

“Well he wasn’t here long, and the guards were back quickly. He couldn’t be too obvious, could he?”

They all glance at Thorin who tries to hide his frustration. He hates this. Give him a sword and a shield and he could fight anything you threw at him, but all of this sneaking politics makes his hands clench. He prefers an open and honest fight to all of this backstabbing.

“Fine,” he says eventually, making up his mind. This had been a plot to lure Hugin out and it had worked. Now that they know what the other Dwarf is thinking and know that he’s regained his confidence in his own security, Thorin can work on the next step.

That no longer requires Alto.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Alto says, letting his calm exterior slip for a second. “Your Majesty, if you would, I wish to speak to you in private.”

Thorin turns back to face him skeptically. “Why?”

Alto never looks away from him. “Stay a few moments and find out.”

In a contest of wills Thorin is a tough opponent. But looking back at Alto he knows this once he’s been beaten.

Nori’s right. He does want to hear what the Dwarf is so desperate to tell him.

“Fine.” He looks at the others. “Wait in the hall, I won’t be long.”

Nori nods and goes to leave, the guards opening the door to let him out easily. Balin and Bilbo hesitate.

“Go.” He tells them gently and they do, Bilbo reaching out to lightly brush Thorin’s hand as he does. Thorin feels the brief touch like a jolt and it leaves him feeling steadier than before as he takes a deep breath.

“There.” He says when the door scrapes shut again behind him. “We’re alone. Now talk.”

Alto’s lips twitch in amusement. “I know you don’t believe me.”

“You picked up on that, did you?” Thorin rolls his eyes. “Now I know why you’re so highly regarded in your field.”

That makes the other Dwarf’s smile disappear. “I’m telling the truth.”

“It’s hard to believe a criminal of your calibre has had a change of heart overnight.”

Alto inclines his head in acknowledgement. “You’re right. So I’ll tell you why I did.”

Thorin frowns. “This couldn’t have been said in front of the others?”

“No.” He answers bluntly. “Besides, I think you’re the only one who would believe me.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why would you think that?”

“Because I know.” Alto’s grin is sharp. “I know what you’ve been hiding.”

“Know what?”

“I saw you two last night.” Their eyes hold. “You’re in love with him.”

Thorin keeps his expression neutral. “Is that your explanation?”

“No,” Alto shakes his head. “But I watched you, I saw what you were trying to hide, and I think you and I are the same.”

“We are not the same.”

Alto goes on. “I love someone too. She’s in danger.”

Thorin snaps. “Speak plainly.”

Alto’s eyes go to the bars in the cells and Thorin hears movement behind him. When he glances back he sees Lila watching them closely, ready for even a hint of a threat.

He turns back. “Lila won’t say anything.”

Alto seems to weigh his words but accepts them eventually. “I didn’t believe it. The rumours that had spread about you two after the Battle, back when you were attached at the hip. Us commoners had seen you together, of course, here and there, and we’d heard things that trickled down the social ladder, but still. I thought there was no way our hardened king who’d lost his heart to gold just like his grandfather had enough room in it for a Hobbit, of all beings.”

Thorin bristles.

“My Dwarrowdam, Osha, she didn’t believe it either. Most of us lower class don’t, in fact. We thought the Hobbit still had the Arkenstone, that the one that used to be in the throne room after the Battle was a fake, and he was blackmailing you into giving him power, carrying out his orders, that sort of thing. So when the man in the tavern came along spouting the same things I wasn’t about to fight him on it.”

Alto heaves a deep breath. “I was ready to kill him you know. I was going to. My dart was in my hand, right at his neck, while I held my knife in the other. I hadn’t found the Arkenstone in his room when I searched it but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have it. It just meant he isn’t stupid.”

Thorin’s jaw clenches. “So what stopped you?”

Alto leans forward, as far as the chains allow, eyes bright. “He said your name in his sleep.”

A pang goes through him but that doesn’t clear up any of his confusion. “And? That was all it took?”

“Osha does that too.” Alto replies, watching him intensely. “Talks in her sleep. And suddenly I couldn’t look at the Hobbit without thinking about her too, that it would be like killing her, and she’s the one person I couldn’t-”

He cuts himself off, looking down. “She was taken. Yesterday morning. Our room was ransacked, they didn’t even try to hide it, or pass it off as her cutting me dry to run. The note they left said that she was insurance and would only be _returned_ if I did the job satisfactorily.”

Disgust laces every word.

His eyes go flinty as he looks back up at Thorin. “I’ve done a lot of jobs for a lot of Dwarves. None of them have ever extorted me before. There’s meant to be honour among thieves, though you might not think so. But this…” He trails off, his lip curling. “Despite what you might think, I’m not stupid just because I’m common. I can see the long game. The person who hired me has proven they have no honour, and I don’t work for people who are as likely to stab me in the back as pay me for a job done. Despite my hang-ups about you and your lot,” he says the words with disgust, and if his opinions on royalty and nobles hadn’t been clear before they certainly are now, “I hoped you’d be different.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I already told you. Because he said your name in his sleep.”

Thorin is confused.

“Look, you can tell a lot about somebody when they’re not paying attention. That includes when they’re sleeping.” Alto explains. “Master Baggins there, he’s tiny, isn’t he? And there’s no weapons in his room apart from the very bare minimum, a sword that’s not even the size of my arm. Though the fellow is probably able to handle himself in a fight when it comes to it- I did my research on him, I’ve heard the stories- he’s no warrior, right? He’s soft. I saw it all over his face and his lack of scars.”

The fair head ducks a bit. “Cruel people don’t sleep that peacefully, not with that look on their face. Besides, his hands are soft, the books on his bedside table are about gardening and Elvish adventures, and there’s no poisons or important papers anywhere in the entire room.” He gives Thorin a look that says _what do you expect_ and Thorin grudgingly allows it. “Safe to say, I realized pretty quickly that he’s not the manipulative scheming evildoer I thought he was. That one’s a good one. Innocent, somehow, despite everything.”

Thorin bites the inside of his cheek.

“And then he said your name and I thought- well there you go. That’s love right there, isn’t it? This creature loves you, and if that’s possible maybe you aren’t the scum of the earth that I’ve always thought.” He blows out a long breath. “I thought for a long time, went over my options, weighing the pros and cons. I’m good at thinking on my feet, but I’ll admit it took me a while to decide what to do.”

Thorin still doesn’t understand. “And this is what you chose? A jail cell?”

“Sure.” Alto shrugs. “Like I said, I can see the long game. It was a long shot, but I wondered if maybe you would help me. First I considered taking Bilbo hostage,” he ignores Thorin’s growl. “But then I thought no, I’ll take the biggest chance in my life and gamble that the king and I are more alike than I could have known.”

He stares at Thorin. “I’m asking you for your help in getting Osha back. I want your word that you’ll do everything in your power to keep her safe and brought back to me through the huge mess and fallout this whole kingdom is about to go through.”

“You have no power to bargain.” Thorin points out. “Like you said, if you’d taken Bilbo hostage I might have considered, but now you are already at our mercy with no leverage.”

“Maybe.” Alto replies and Thorin suddenly isn’t so sure of himself. The Dwarf keeps speaking however, so he can’t dwell on it. “But I spared the person you love. The only reason you two are still together now is because of me.” His eyes search Thorin’s face. “I’m hoping I’m right and you have enough honour to do the same.”

“You’re the one who endangered his life to begin with,” Thorin growls, but his mind is no longer on this conversation. It is the same argument he’d had with Bilbo and Nori, this time from Alto’s lips, and instead of bargaining he sees what this really is.

A plea. A desperate plea from a Dwarf who is usually far too careful to allow himself to be put in this position.

He already knows what Alto will say. That if Hugin hadn’t sent him it would have been another, and Thorin would be in a very different situation right now. Again it is the same arguments the others had given him, but for the first time, as Thorin glances back at Alto, he really considers them.

Here is a being who has chosen to do the right thing in the end due to nothing but hope that Thorin will help him in his desperate situation. Just because he’d seen Bilbo and realized what the rest of the Company had on their quest.

Bilbo is special, someone to be treasured and protected. Bilbo is good.

Alto really is good at reading people. Given, of course, that this isn’t all a load of bollocks.

Thorin grits his teeth, wondering how long it will be until one of them finally crack at the habit, before nodding shortly.

Alto is right. He understands. Where the others had failed to convince him, one conversation with this Dwarf has done it.

But he knows what that desperate tone in the Dwarf’s voice means. He can see the fear in his eyes, the worry in every muscle of his shoulders and hands, the vulnerability in his confession.

Thorin has lost many loved ones, and nearly lost many more. He knows what that pain is like. And knowing what he does of Alto, of Nori’s former way of life, it’s clear that this Dwarf is in danger of losing the only loved one he has left.

So Thorin nods.

“You think Hugin has your… Osha?”

Alto’s face settles in a faintly victorious expression.

Damn him.

“Yes. There’s no other reason for him coming down here and saying the things he did to me. He’s the Dwarf, I’m sure of it, and if you get him you’ll find what happened to Osha.”

Thorin nods, briefly lost in thought. The thought of Hugin kidnapping Dwarves is unnerving. “Very well. I will do what I can to find her and make sure she isn’t harmed. Perhaps she can visit you before your execution.”

A complicated expression flickers on Alto’s face but before he hides it Thorin is sure it is a mixture of resignation and disappointment. “As long as she’s safe.”

His respect for the other Dwarf rises at that. “If that’s all…”

“Sire,” Alto calls, making Thorin stop with his back turned.

“What?”

“Hugin’s servant girl. With the papers.”

Thorin waits. “Yes?”

“You think that was a simple mistake?”

His brows furrow as he turns back around. “What else would it have been?”

Alto’s lips twitch, but not into a smile. “I think she wanted another look at you all.”

“What good would that do?”

Alto shrugs.

“If you know something, tell me.” Thorin demands.

“I don’t.” He replies and Thorin loses patience, throwing his hands up and moving to leave. “But. If Hugin slips up, it will be through her.”

Thorin freezes. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a feeling.” Alto replies. “Pay attention to her. Dwarves like him… well they never give their servants the consideration they should.”

Thorin watches him for a few heartbeats before nodding again.

“Thank you,” he says quietly from near the door. Interestingly, he believes Alto. Even more interesting is that he means his thanks.

He leaves right after, his head full of questions.

* * *

Hugin comes to Thorin that same afternoon. He’d sought out Balin, demanded an audience as soon as possible, and now Thorin is staring at him from where he stands in his office with his arms crossed and face set in a scowl.

Bilbo had once told him that his scowling wasn’t far off of his usual facial expression, and that he doubted most people noticed a difference from his resting face. Thorin hadn’t been able to argue with him.

He pushes all thoughts of Bilbo from his mind now, however. They will only encourage him to lose his temper and Thorin needs no help in that regard.

Hugin stands with his shoulders slightly hunched forward and hands clasped in front of him. His robes are green and silver, and Thorin has to stare at a point over his shoulder because the mere sight of Hugin lifting his eyes meekly in a false show of respect makes him want to hurt something.

“Sire. How was your meeting with the prisoner?”

A deep breath in and out. Thorin forces his fingers to stop twitching, glad at Orcrist’s weight at his hip. Whether or not Hugin has noticed the blade Thorin can’t say.

“Quite illuminating. It appears I have a traitor among the nobles in Erebor.”

This is the plan. To pressure Hugin into making a mistake by making it appear like they are closing in on him. It means gambling with Alto’s life but that has been a risk they all agreed they were willing to take.

Hugin blanches. “He named them?”

“No.” Thorin says. “All he could tell us was that he was hired to do a job. One that would be considered a grave act of treason.” He turns to bore his gaze into Hugin, hoping to make the man even more uncomfortable. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? I know you have always kept yourself well informed.”

Though Thorin had replaced Hugin with Nori after sending Bilbo away, he knew that the Dwarf hadn’t given up his contacts or influence. In fact, if rumours and gossip could be believed, Hugin has only grown more powerful in the past 5 years.

“No.” He licks his lips, making them shine. Thorin feels disgust work its way through him. “Though of course I will keep an ear out and inform you immediately if that changes.”

“Hmm.” He turns away, needing the moment to control himself again. “We will find them. I am not one to let such insults pass unpunished, especially when they pose such danger to my family and I.”

“Your _family_?” Hugin sounds strangled and Thorin turns, no longer hiding his impatience.

“Yes. Now what was it you needed to discuss so urgently, as you can see I have other things to occupy my time.”

“I…” Hugin licks his lips again. Thorin begins to pace behind his desk and the other Dwarf shakes his head as if clearing it. As if shaking himself back into the present.

Mahal, if he would only confess now, just turn himself in and allow them all to move on without this farce, Thorin would be grateful for it. He would still have no mercy for him, but at least it would show some hint of good character.

But that is ridiculous and Thorin knows it. Hugin is greedy and desperate enough to try and destroy the Line of Durin, or at least manipulate them, because he has some false idea that he can worm himself into a position of power. Because he is so blinded by hate and prejudice that he cannot bear the very thought of Bilbo and Tauriel living here safely.

Is this what Thorin had been like? He thinks the question to himself in disgust. This snivelling and scheming, hate-fueled wretch of a Dwarf? Had he been so unsatisfied with the love of his friends and family that he had wasted all his time bearing a grudge against other races simply for being who they were?

Thranduil is different, and his son is well, though Thorin will admit Legolas has grown on him slightly. Thranduil had been a spineless coward without honour who lacked any regard for the years of alliance between their people before Smaug.

But even then, Thorin thinks bitterly, the Elfking had his reasons. Poor and weak reasons that Thorin spit on, yes, but reasons all the same. Thranduil’s true face is proof that he has fought dragons in the past and knows what such an endeavor means. And once Smaug had been defeated he _had_ helped them fight off Azog.

What are Hugin’s reasons? He wonders but he can think of nothing. Some of the Dwarves had lost loved ones in the Battle, but Hugin has been alone since he was a Dwarfling of Gimli’s age, when his family had died in Azanulbizar.

No, Hugin is motivated by nothing but opportunistic greed and maliciousness, Thorin is sure of it. He has asked Balin to be sure of Hugin’s past and the old Dwarf had agreed that there is nothing he knows of to explain why Hugin bears such a grudge towards other races.

“It’s nothing really, sire.” Hugin says finally. “I just wanted to inform you that the public’s perception of Master Kíli and the Elf’s wedding is growing more positive.”

“That is good news.” Thorin waits. “And that was all?”

Hugin twitches. “Yes.”

“Ah.” Another poor excuse. Had Thorin really thought Hugin cunning once? “Well then I will waste no more of our time.”

Irritation at the hidden barb is plain to see in Hugin’s countenance but the Dwarf only nods. “Yes, sire. If you’ll excuse me.”

He backs away and out of Thorin’s office without another word and Thorin waits what surely must have been enough time before banging his hand hard against the surface of his desk.

It barely hurt but the movement is enough to clear his head a bit and make him focus, taking another deep breath.

“You can come out now Bilbo.”

Quietly Bilbo slips into the room from the passage connecting the office and Thorin’s bedroom, his face hard. “You’re alright?”

“I’d very much like to hurt Hugin, but apart from that yes, I suppose.” Thorin slants a look down at Bilbo by his side. “And you?”

“Fine.” Bilbo reaches out to take up Thorin’s clenched hand on the desk, fingers running over his skin gently, so lightly that he barely feels a whisper of the touch. “We will catch him, won’t we?”

Thorin swallows, easing his fist out so he can hold one of Bilbo’s hands.

“Yes, _ghivashel_. We will.” His voice hardens as he makes one more vow. “I will not rest until we do.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you for all of the lovely comments last chapter. I was a bit worried about that one, I didn't want it to be boring, and I'm happy so many of you enjoyed it! This is the last chapter I'll post before Christmas and I just want to wish everybody a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays! I hope you all have a wonderful few days.
> 
> The Sindarin in this chapter was taken from The One Wiki, from their Elvish Word List. 
> 
> Gwador- brother in all but blood (Sindarin)  
> Ada- Father (Sindarin)  
> Namad- sister

When the Company all gather that evening in Thorin’s rooms it is crowded, to say the least. Dís, Tauriel, Gimli and Legolas are also there, making the problem even worse. Thorin has moved several chairs and sofas from his various other rooms to the living room just so that everyone has a place to sit, though a few of the Dwarves are standing and Tauriel and Kíli have each elected to sit on the floor by one another.

The fire is going, the wall sconces are lit and candles are burning. There is enough light for Thorin to see the unhappy drawn expressions on all of his friends’ faces.

Nori and Dwalin are on opposite sides of the room, Nori taking refuge among Dori and Ori (and he must truly be desperate, Thorin thinks, because even though he’s noticed Nori bat Dori’s hands away from Ori more than once, the middle ‘Ri brother hasn’t moved) while Dwalin sulks beside Balin, who is talking with Óin. Bilbo is with Dís and Fíli, and Thorin feels sympathy mixed with gratitude at the sight because poor Bilbo is undoubtedly dealing with Thorin’s family’s bad tempers at being kept in the dark for so long about the events of last night.

Not that they hadn’t been briefly informed at the time, when their rooms had been checked on. But still, Dís in particular is livid at being kept out of the planning and action of the day, and her boys are upset that their requests to see Alto in his cell are being continually denied.

But they know the gist of what has happened, and Thorin can’t fault them for being upset with them all. He would be seething too, if it was him. And word has spread throughout the entire Company, which meant questions, leading to Bilbo suggesting gathering them all together.

Thorin had agreed immediately, knowing Bilbo was right, and it had been him to suggest including Legolas as well. And wherever Legolas went Gimli usually followed, which is why he is currently nestled beside Gandalf and leaning forward, tea forgotten in his hand, to speak with Legolas who has claimed an armchair for himself.

The amount of guards outside Thorin’s rooms must be ridiculous right now, he thinks, but there is nothing to be done. Legolas’ Elvish guards will not leave him and Thorin would not expect them to.

Bofur and Bifur are the last to arrive and they do so together, coming into the room with work-worn clothes. They take a seat in two of the few empty spaces available, and as soon as they are down Thorin clears his throat.

The others fall silent and he stands to make sure he can meet everyone’s eyes. Bilbo quietly comes to stand beside him, taking his unofficial role as co-host of this meeting.

“You all know what has happened.” He begins, looking around, seeing their displeasure at the reminder. “Bilbo and I have asked you here to talk about it.”

“And to answer any questions.” Bilbo pipes up.

“Yes,” Thorin inclines his head. “Are there any?”

There’s silent for only a moment before every single Dwarf who hadn’t been present in the cell with Alto earlier today bursts loudly into sound. Even Gandalf seems troubled if the booming severity of his voice is anything to go by.

It is him that Thorin listens to, mostly because he has made himself loudest amongst the din, and thus easiest to hear.

“I want to know why this Dwarf was able to make it into Bilbo’s room at all. Surely his guards aren’t all incompetent?”

Bilbo answers before Thorin can, and his reply eases Thorin’s glower. “Not at all, Gandalf. But Alto, the Dwarf sent to my chambers, is extremely skilled. Though he didn’t seriously hurt anybody, and didn’t touch me at all, he clearly had the ability and means.”

Dwalin speaks next. “I’ve upgraded Bilbo’s security for the time being. Dido has taken it as a personal insult and is practically glued to his hip at all times. Believe me, this won’t happen again.”

“It best not.” Gandalf mutters, though Thorin doesn’t think his concerned frown is directed at them.

“We are lucky that Alto has a conscience,” Thorin says. “We are not foolish enough to think we will be so lucky a second time. Which is why we’ve already taken steps to force the guilty party’s hand.”

“Are we really talking about Alto? The same Alto who used to teach me cards when he stayed with us?” Ori asks, cheeks lightly coloured red.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about him, Ori.” Nori replies gently, though the words seem to pain him.

Ori frowns. “You said you two worked together.”

“Aye, there’s a lot you don’t know about your brother too,” Dori mutters, making Nori shoot him a quelling look that causes him to fall quiet and cross his arms before looking away.

Thorin shifts uncomfortably. He knows Nori had presented himself as a petty thief and nothing more to the rest of the Company on their quest, but he has no wish to be witness to the moment the truth about what he used to be comes to light. Particularly not with Ori, who looks up to Nori so much, or Dori who has all but cut his own brother off because of it.

Ori is the only thing still tying Nori and Dori together. Thorin has no wish to see the brothers drift apart even further.

“Alto was paid to do a job. To kill Bilbo, on Hugin’s orders.”

Tauriel looks at Bilbo at the mention of Hugin’s name, and though Thorin doesn’t know what passes between them, he does know he doesn’t like it.

Fíli speaks for the first time. “And we’re sure it’s him?”

Kíli looks at his brother. “You can’t seriously doubt it after everything he’s done-”

“I don’t. But if we want him punished it can’t be by Uncle. We’ll need a trial. Which means evidence to prove our case, and that means being certain and having proof to show it.”

Legolas frowns and looks to Thorin. “Why can’t you deliver the verdict yourself?”

“I could,” he admits. “But I am too involved in this matter, and most of Erebor knows that. Or at least my Council does. It would be best for us all if I recused myself and left Hugin in the hands of his peers.”

“But you are the king.”

“Even I have to curry the favour of my councillors and subjects,” Thorin replies. “If they were to band against me after believing I had gotten rid of Hugin for personal reasons that could send a wave of distrust throughout Erebor. Hugin is still a high noble, though he is no longer on the Council.”

“We don’t want to invite any possibility of Thorin being accused of nepotism or allowing his own feelings to interfere in the official matters.” Balin explains.

Legolas looks troubled. “Surely your people would not be able to open question your judgement. Even if they disapproved.”

Thorin smiles thinly. “Once that was true, but I have learned the danger of ruling that way. You are looking at the negative side of it. Rather, look at the positive. Instead of a closed off king who rules with harshness and unquestionable authority, even when he is wrong and leading his people to ruin, Erebor is a kingdom where we are all held accountable for our actions. Me included. That is worth something, Elf Prince. It would not do for me to feel above any counsel or boundaries.”

Though Legolas still looks contemplative he no longer questions him.

Thorin turns away from him to face the others, specifically the -Ur brothers. “Now, I have a question for you all. Though I was told attitudes in Erebor are changing, we now know there are some who are actively fighting against the inclusion of other races in the mountain. I am asking all of you if you have heard or seen anything that we should be on guard for. Or experienced anything that should be punished.” He glances towards Tauriel and Legolas briefly.

Legolas lifts an eyebrow. “I have rarely strayed beyond the company of the people in this room. Whenever I have gone out into public I was surrounded by guards and was not approached.”

Gimli nods, drawing Thorin’s attention. “It’s true, the only interaction he’s had with any other Dwarves have been with me, if someone asks me to introduce him.”

Hmm. That is something at least, for even if the plan was to frame Legolas and Thranduil for some nefarious scheme, at least there has been no open hostility towards them from anybody. Truthfully it was Legolas that Thorin had expected to feel the brunt of Dwarvish prejudice, simply because of who he and his father are.

“I’ve told Balin about the notes and things I received.” Tauriel says quietly. “But you all know things have changed for me in recent years. I find myself entirely comfortable out in Erebor now, and widely accepted.”

“As you should be.” Dís affirms, making Tauriel shoot her a small and grateful smile.

Thorin nods. He knows how bitterly Dís regrets her initial reaction to Tauriel the day of her arrival so long ago, and he admits, just to himself, that he finds amusement from how his sister seems to have taken it upon herself to be Tauriel’s staunchest defender ever since.

Bilbo is quiet, but Thorin allows that. He knows what Bilbo has elected to tell him. The Hobbit still feels like an outsider sometimes, and obviously now he knows there are those who would rather him gone. There have been mutters in the market that Bilbo has overheard, suspicions about the Arkenstone, about his influence over Thorin and the Company, struggles because of his size and more. Thorin does not need him to lay it out in front of their friends for them to see.

Instead he looks at the -Ur brothers.

“I know you three spend more time with others than we do. You especially Bofur, since you live in the public sector.”

“Which is an annoying inconvenience,” Dwalin growls. “Which was proven by my guards when they went to check if you were alright last night.”

“Gave me quite the fright when they showed up.” Bofur grins easily despite the subject.

“As long as you are alive to be frightened, I will not regret it.” Thorin answers. “I wonder, Bofur, Bifur and Bombur, whether you might be able to tell me of the feelings around Erebor concerning Hobbits, Men and Elves within our halls.”

Bofur’s eyebrows rise and Bifur cocks his head. “You’re asking us the current gossip?”

“I am.” Thorin says seriously. “Prejudices are old between us and other races, that is not news. However, it seems those prejudices have worsened enough to lead to assassination attempts, and that will not do. I need to know if you’ve heard anything about this… extreme discontent.”

“Well… no.” Bombur says slowly. “But then, attitudes towards us have changed since the quest.”

“I don’t know if we’re quite what you would call common anymore,” Bofur jokes.

“Certain Dwarves won’t talk to us. Don’t want us around. They know we’re friends with you, see, Thorin, and don’t want word spreading.”

“Ah,” Thorin is disappointed to hear it, and from the tones Bofur and Bombur have they aren’t entirely happy with the change either.

“I’ve heard a few things.” Bifur says quietly, making them all fall silent in surprise.

“You have?” Bilbo asks.

Bifur nods. “Since my axe fell out in the Battle I’ve been able to speak just fine. But nobody outside the Company knows that, see. They still think I’m mute. Some think I’m deaf. Rumours spread,” his small smile appears forced, “about the disabled Dwarf of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company. And almost none of them are accurate.”

“Or considerate, it would seem.” Thorin mutters, but lets Bifur go on.

“So some Dwarves think I’m deaf just because I wouldn’t speak. The ones I’ve heard things from are Dwarves I’ve never seen before, and they obviously didn’t know I could speak Khuzdûl when the axe was still in my head, or that I understood Westron just fine. Anyway, having people think you’re crippled makes them a bit less wary around you. Sometimes, when I’m drinking alone in the market, or at a shop, people say things around me that they shouldn’t.”

Thorin notes how Bombur shifts to sit closer to Bifur, almost protectively, and Bofur has crossed his arms and looks as if he’s daring any of them to say anything that would require a scolding.

“And?” Balin presses to break the expectant pause. “What have you heard?

“Just a few comments here and there. But they weren’t nice.” Bifur glances apologetically to Tauriel and Bilbo. “Commoners at the bar of taverns speculating about what Tauriel and Bilbo are doing here. How long they’ll be here for. Why the Company and Durins would want them around.”

The two beings in question listen without an obvious reaction. Thorin leans a bit towards Bilbo anyway in a silent show of support.

“Jokes about- about sharing their bed. Um.” Bifur scratches his head. “It’s uncomfortable talk, but most of it comes from the mystery around them I think.”

“Mystery?” Gandalf questions.

“They haven’t seen them often.” Bifur explains. “I know Tauriel’s been in the markets often enough, but the poor, the drunks, the workers, they can’t get out there as easily as most of the others can. Their space of trade is hidden and not frequented by any nobles I know of.”

“Black markets,” Fíli notes, and Bifur nods.

“Exactly. We know they’re there, that they exist, but no one wishes to go if they don’t have to.” He fiddled with his beard a bit. “So they’ve not been as exposed to Tauriel and Bilbo as others. Haven’t grown as accustomed to their presence, or even know that much about them. I heard a rumour one Dwarf thought Elves’ eyes turn red and they grow fangs at night.”

Tauriel blinks in shock and Legolas laughed. “That’s nonsense.”

“Obviously.” Bofur breaks in. “But some of these Dwarves have never seen an Elf in their life. Even if it’s a hurtful story spread around to mock you, the uneducated can be taken advantage of to believe anything.”

Thorin is frowning. “What do you suggest we do about this?”

He will not force Tauriel and Bilbo to expose themselves in any way, or to visit dank and dangerous places just to help others grow used to them.

“You asked what’s been heard and Bifur’s told you.” Bofur shrugs. “What you do with the information is up to you.”

Thorin glances at Balin but he looks just as troubled as Thorin feels. Rather than waste time and sit there mulling things over until a solution falls into their laps, Thorin continues.

“There is more. It turns out Hugin has some of our own guards and perhaps other Dwarves we don’t know of yet working for and with him. Including some with considerable influence and position in Erebor.”

He turns to his oldest friend.

“Tell me of Sazeed, Dwalin. You were involved in whatever issue he had after the Battle, were you not?”

Dwalin looks away from staring at Nori to give Thorin his full attention. “Aye. Good guard. Good Dwarf, or so I thought. He’s from the Iron Hills, has Dáin’s personal vouch of approval.” He hesitates, gaze unwavering, before finishing. “Says his mother and brother were killed in the Battle by a pair of Thranduil’s Elves.”

Legolas’ head shoots up and his features tighten. “That is a filthy lie.”

Thorin purses his lips, not entirely sure Legolas is correct. In battle many things go unnoticed. Atrocities are committed during attacks and raids that others are far to occupied to witness. It would be nothing for an Elf to turn around and murder a couple of Dwarves and then claim it was some nearby Orcs responsible instead.

“And how was this accusation handled?”

“Well he was Dáin’s subject, so we left it with him to deal with. But you’ll remember he had a lot on his plate, what with you unconscious and recovering, and we were all being strongly encouraged,” he looks at his brother witheringly, “to make nice with the Elves. No one wanted to bring that up and have it ruin things.”

Thorin frowns. “So we did nothing?”

Dwalin shrugs. “As far as I know Dáin handled it. Mind you, I only heard about all of this when Dáin came to me recommending Sazeed as a good soldier and guard when Sazeed decided to stay in Erebor. He only mentioned it in passing to give me an idea if anything came of it in the future.”

“And so it has,” Gandalf intones seriously.

Thorin frowns, looking at Balin. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

Balin raises an eyebrow. “You were rather busy at the time.”

Thorin’s temper flares. “That makes no difference. This accusation is serious, and should have been brought to me, Balin.”

“It was resolved, we thought Dáin took care of it-”

“I was not even aware of it!” Thorin shouts. “And I should have been. If the accusation is false then it is dangerous for our relations with Thranduil and his Elves. If it is true… I should have handled it with the Elf King then and there rather than allow years to go by without justice being done.”

“It’s not true!” Legolas stands angrily. “To suggest they are is an insult to me and my people-”

Luckily Tauriel answers him before Thorin can.

“Legolas.” She stands swiftly, moving to take his elbow and force his anger-bright eyes and attention to herself, sounding calm all the while. “You are Prince of Greenwood, and though you fight alongside your subjects there is a lot you and your father do not know about them.” Something hard comes over her. “Even Elves are capable of cruelty, _Gwador_. To other races, but also to our own. I have experienced it myself.”

Legolas’ eyes hold hers, and Thorin watches as something breaks in his expression as he makes an aborted move to shake his head. “But this, Tauriel. This is barbarous. It is cruel.”

“Some beings are cruel.” She replies softly. “I was Captain of the Guard for many years Legolas, and though the idea is abhorrent to me, I know there were acts committed by my soldiers that I would recoil from should I have ever learned of them. As much as I tried to root out such filth, to discourage and punish such things, there are always those who manage to avoid the punishment they deserve. To erase all evidence and find others willing to help cover their tracks.”

Legolas shakes his head. “My father-”

“Is the king,” she interrupts him, still gentle. “Bound by our laws to punish rule breakers and those who act in any way that would shame our people or his kingdom. As he should be. But that means that even his captains, even his lords and ladies, will lie to him and hide things to protect those they love or agree with.”

Thorin turns from them back to Balin, pointing at the pair of Elves who are still speaking. “You see the implications this has? The damage it is doing? We should have had this out in the open and dealt with long ago, Balin.”

Balin lifts his chin slightly in defence, though he does not look entirely comfortable with his position. “We had no reason to believe it was true at the time, and nothing has come to light to change that. Dáin agreed with us, he said it would blow over and be forgotten-”

Thorin shakes his head in disgust. “You thought so because you were too busy with the aftermath of the Battle.”

“And can you blame us?” Balin demands. “When you were at deaths door, your nephews injured, and we were left with an empty and broken kingdom surrounded on all sides by tentative allies that could turn enemy at any moment until treaties and terms were forged and agreed to?”

And perhaps the worst of it is that Thorin can’t blame them entirely. Rebuilding Erebor had been a long and complicated struggle, one that was still not entirely done, and relations amongst the races had been tense. Everyone was wounded and had suffered losses, and though it pains Thorin to his core he can easily see how Sazeed had been overlooked and forgotten in the chaos.

Perhaps if he had not been injured by Azog things would have been different. Dáin may have had more time to help Sazeed. Perhaps if Thorin had not been gold sick the armies of Men, Elves and Dwarves would have banded together and been prepared for the Orc attack, thus losing less lives and having more survivors who could have investigated. Perhaps, if Sazeed is not lying, them banding together may have stopped the murder of Sazeed’s family.

Thranduil had brought his army to Erebor intending them to attack and kill Dwarves to get to the treasure within the Lonely Mountain. His Elvish soldiers had been prepared for that. They had been promised that.

It is not so hard for Thorin to believe that Sazeed is telling the truth and a couple of Thranduil’s fighters had acted of their own accord and taken an opportunity to carry out what they had been brought for.

“And if it was one of us making the claim, if it was two of our number who had been cut down, would we still be so doubtful?”

Balin’s eyes flash. “That is unfair.”

“I doubt Sazeed would agree.”

“I must send a letter to my father,” Legolas interrupts them when he begins to move but Thorin grabs his arm to stop him.

“No, wait.”

The prince tenses immediately. “Unhand me.”

“Wait.” Thorin repeats, but he does let Legolas go. “This is a volatile subject, Prince Legolas. We must be careful of how far this spreads outside this room.”

The Elf’s eyes narrow. “I will not hide this from him.”

“And I am not asking you to. I also want to tell Thranduil of this development. But it must be done carefully. He is not present to see or hear different perspectives, and may convince himself the accusation is false and slanderous without considering the alternative, as Tauriel has forced you to do.”

“My father is not stupid, Dwarf King-”

“No, but he is proud, as I am.” Thorin holds his gaze. “Tell me, if our positions were reversed, if it was you and your father responsible for informing me of this, would you not tread carefully and want to work in cooperation with all involved?”

Legolas blinks and relaxes a fraction.

“If I inform Thranduil of this myself he will likely bring the letter to his advisors and they will stir themselves into an outrage. Don’t deny it, I know it is true. If you bring it to him he will think we are trying to poison you against your own kingdom, or suspect some other trick. No, we must do this right, Legolas, and be careful.”

The Elf’s mouth works, and he glances back at Tauriel and Gimli, who stand together looking anxious, before finally nodding.

“I see your reasoning.” He admits quietly. “I will go and write my letter. But before sending it I will share it with you, and we may work together to make it fit both our standards.” He hesitates. “You may add your own message after mine, if you like. So _Ada_ knows you and I are united in this.”

Thorin breathes out in relief and steps aside to allow him to continue leaving. “Thank you. I- it is appreciated.”

Legolas nods once more and then, with a final look at Gimli, he exits the room.

“Um-”

“Oh go on,” Glóin says to his son. “Makes sure he doesn’t cock it up.”

It doesn’t take anything more to make Gimli hurry out after Legolas.

Thorin sighs and rubs his temples. This has turned into more of a headache than he had ever imagined.

“There is one more thing.”

“It cannot be worse than that, surely.” Dís remarks, making Thorin wince.

“Alto has brought forward an accusation against Hugin. On top of accusing him of being the one to try and have Bilbo killed, Alto claims that Hugin is also keeping a Dwarrowdam, Osha, captive, to ensure he doesn’t betray him.”

Gasps and noises of outrage sound throughout the room.

“And while I am trying to look into this, there has not been much luck so far.” It’s only been a day, but honestly, Thorin, Nori, Balin and Bilbo had all had no ideas where to start. “It is possible this is false. But there’s a high chance it isn’t. And there is also a chance, though I hope it is not true, that this is not an isolated incident.”

Kíli frowns. “You mean… more kidnapped Dwarves?”

Thorin nods.

The room erupts.

“What methods can we use to find out from Hugin-”

“I’LL CHOKE IT OUT OF HIM, HOW’S THAT FOR METHODS!”

“-SLIME-COVERED, MAGGOT-INFESTED, SHITE-SMELLING-”

“Now we don’t know for sure-”

“-WART-FACED, BEARDLESS-”

“What can we do? Surely there’s something we can all do?”

“-if we could all just calm down-”

“Who are his contacts? His peers? One of them would know, he can’t be doing it all alone.”

“-SPINELESS WASTE OF SPACE!”

After everyone has said their piece and the volume of the room lowers just enough for Thorin to be heard again, he nods.

“I quite agree.”

Everyone’s attention comes back to fall on him.

“Which is why this must be our highest priority. We have to learn whether this is true, and we have to find whoever may be taken and release them. I want all of us to work together on this and prepare for the fallout.” He hesitates. “I need your help. This could shake all of Erebor and if handled indelicately, could mean our ruin.”

“Is that all?” Nori asks. For the first time Thorin notes just how quiet he’s been throughout the meeting.

“Yes.” He is in no mood for teasing or making light of this. 

“Then we’d best get to work quick as we can.” Dís suggests.

That’s as good a place to stop as any. “Yes. Anything you feel you can do will be appreciated.”

“Very,” Kíli says while holding Tauriel’s hand.

The meeting is effectively over at that point, and the Dwarves trickle out, all of them somber and lost in thought. Bilbo goes to speak with Gandalf for a bit and Dís stops by Thorin.

“I know you all agreed we aren’t in danger,” meaning the royal family, “but I won’t feel safe until this is over with. I want extra security on all of us. Not just you and Bilbo.”

Thorin doesn’t disagree. One could never be too careful. “Alright.”

“And Thorin,” she reaches out to touch the back of his hand lightly. “Be careful. I can’t- I don’t know what I’d do if-” She catches herself and clears her throat, blinking a few times. “You’re the only brother I have left now. Take care of yourself for me. You and Bilbo.”

He’s touched by the sudden display from the normally so composed Dís and he taps his forehead to hers. “I will, _namad_.”

“Thorin.”

He looks over at Balin and Dís uses the opportunity to slip away.

“About Sazeed.” The old Dwarf rubs a hand over his mouth before continuing. “We made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

There seems to be a lot of mistakes being made lately, but Thorin can’t find it in him to hold onto his anger towards his friend any longer. He should have been told, yes, and if it was him in Sazeed’s position he would be furious and never let it be forgotten.

But he can understand his friends and why it happened this way. He doesn’t like it, but he can understand it.

“Make sure it does not.” He says but then gentles his voice. “What do you think?”

“Of Sazeed? Or everything else?”

“Everything.” Thorin answers morosely. “Do you think we can weather this storm?”

For it would be a storm. A kingdom wide scandal, most likely, if word got out. And Thorin has no illusions it would not, so he plans to make sure word spreads on his own terms, that the story is one the royal family comes out looking favourably in rather than suspect or weak.

“Yes, I am quite certain we can. You are not the wrong party here, Thorin, and your kingdom will see that.”

He nods. “I hope so.”

“I know it.” Balin smiles. “We have confidence in you, as our leader and as our king. You have proven yourself time and time again. The people will not abandon you now.”

Hearing that really does make Thorin feel better. “Thank you Balin, that cheers me more than you know.”

Balin nods. “I’ll go see to some things. You should eat something.”

He frowns. “I-”

“Skipped breakfast and it’s well past dinner now. I’m sure you barely touched your lunch. Eat.”

“Yes.” Bilbo appears by his side out of nowhere and looks at Thorin meaningfully. “Let’s.”

When faced with the two of them he is helpless to do anything but agree.

* * *

They take dinner together in Thorin’s quarters and he tries not to focus on just how domestic it all is. The fact that Bilbo is practically already ruling alongside him has not escaped his notice; in fact, it’s what he is trying to encourage. He wants to show everybody, not just the two of them, that this is possible. That this is something they excel at.

He knows he’s distracted during the meal, and it is inevitable that Bilbo eventually catches on as well. But after Thorin’s eyes linger on him for too long once again the Hobbit finally stops shifting self-consciously in his seat and looks him in the eye.

“What?

“I-” Thorin’s voice is far hoarser than he had expected, and he clears it, taking a moment to put his thoughts in order.

Still the confession is hard to force out. The vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, and in the end the words are barely a whisper. “I am so glad you’re okay.”

Perhaps it was Dís’ words earlier and the obvious way she was affected by everything, or just that Thorin himself is still processing what has happened in the past day, but he can’t seem to stop remembering how close he came to losing Bilbo.

Bilbo’s face goes through a series of changes but in the end, he just looks back at Thorin softly. He turns on his stool at the table to face Thorin directly. Thorin does the same, cursing his choice to sit beside Bilbo rather than across the wooden surface.

It does give him a few seconds to pull himself together however, which means that his words come out more normal than they would have a moment ago.

“I have cursed myself each and every day since sending you away. From the moment I said the words telling you to go I wished I had not. A part of me awoke each day hoping to hear that you had returned, and that this time you would not allow my foolishness to come between us.”

Bilbo looks knowing, and while he is obviously listening to Thorin’s speech, he disregards the words to address what is causing them. “I’m fine, Thorin.”

“I know.” Thorin replies seriously. “I do. But coming so close to the worst- knowing what could have happened…” He looks away. “It makes me regret our time apart more than anything.

Silence holds between them and it is only by the time Thorin gathers his courage enough to meet Bilbo’s eyes again that the Hobbit answers.

“I almost left Bag-End a few times.” Bilbo confesses. “It was strange, to be back, and I was unhappy being there alone after so long on the road with you all. The other Hobbits whispered about me and their gossip was not unfounded. I grew unsociable and rude at times.”

“You? I cannot believe it.”

“To Dwarves it might not have appeared so.” Bilbo’s smile is fond and not directed towards Thorin. “But to the Shire it was clear as day. I was changed.”

“I am sorry.”

“So you have said.” Bilbo sniffs and his expression clears. “And I believe you. But don’t you see Thorin, too much has happened for us to fall back into one another’s arms right away. It doesn’t matter if we love each other, we have been cruel. I do not want that in my future.”

Thorin swallows. “ _I_ have been cruel. You have been nothing but forgiving and kind when I do not deserve it.” He looks down at Bilbo, catches his eyes and holds them desperately, voice cracking and surprising them both as he asks, “have I ever done anything but hurt you?”

Bilbo’s entire being softens as shock flits across his face quickly before a tenderness replaces it. “Of course. I would not have stayed if I was unhappy. Or come back.”

“Really? I cannot remember it being so.” The king moves away to pace. “I dragged you on a quest you wanted no part of, during which I insulted you and ignored you in equal measure until you nearly died saving my life. When I fell to the gold sickness I accused you at sword point of concealing the Arkenstone from me.”

“Which I had done.” Bilbo points out after standing up as well.

“I nearly threw you from the gates of this kingdom and then had the nerve to nearly die in your arms. And if that was not enough, I have broken both of our hearts and put you through the worst possible treatment! All while claiming to have loved you throughout.”

“You are forgetting at least a month after the Battle when we were beyond happy. Or at least I was.” Bible clears his throat. “Besides, if we are listing grievances against one another you must not forget mine.” He stands up straight and stares at him defiantly. “I did steal from you. More than that, I betrayed your trust and lied while sharing your bed and claiming to love you in turn. I ran from you before the Battle and did not seek you out until you were at risk of being ambushed. And then before you sent me away, I did not ask what was plaguing you, though I knew you were troubled.” His face shutters.

“After you told me to leave, I knew I could have kept fighting to convince you to allow me to stay, and I knew that I might succeed, but I did not because I was afraid of manipulating you. I kept the Arkenstone all these years because part of me was happy you had given it up for me and you had nothing. I did not write to you, though I came close many times, and I have thrown your honesty back in your face since I arrived and hurt you with my cowardice by refusing to give an answer we both know we want. Shall I continue?”

Silence cuts between them while Thorin takes in the words. His voice is a croak when eventually he replies, and all he can say is, “that is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to what I have put you through in turn.”

“Perhaps not, but I am no innocent and wish you would not treat me as such.” Bilbo’s face hardens. “Nor am I helpless. Next time somebody gives you an ultimatum concerning our relationship you should know to come to me, and we will figure it out together. Do not send me away in some attempt to spare my feelings.”

Thorin nods. “You are right. I do realize it now, truly.” He stops as the entirety of Bilbo’s words catch up with him. “Next time?”

“Hmm?”

“You said next time our relationship is threatened.” He stares at Bilbo closely. “As if implying there will be a future scenario where such a thing is possible.”

Bilbo blinks and if Thorin is not wrong there is a faint blush on his cheeks for a small second. “Who can say what the future will hold?” He says.

Thorin feels hope rise in him. Bilbo catches sight of it and holds out a finger.

“Don’t read into it.” He warns but there is something in his eyes, an emotion, a message that years ago Thorin would have known how to interpret. “You are trying, Thorin, and I can appreciate that. And I do think that you have changed.” The Hobbit swallows. “But you have just finished reminding me of everything we have done to one another. I can’t forget how you have hurt me.”

“The ramparts-”

“I don’t mean then.” Bilbo’s interruption is gentle, almost kind. “I mean sending me away. You did not trust me enough to share the problem and it has led us to this.”

Thorin tenses, caught off guard. “I trust you.”

Bilbo is already shaking his head. “I do not know that you do. I lost your trust when I traded the Arkenstone, and a part of me feels like I have never fully regained it.”

“You have it.” Thorin promises stepping forward. “Of course you do. I could not share a bed with someone I do not trust.”

Bilbo stares up at him. “Then perhaps the problem is that I don’t trust you.”

Thorin stops in his steps.

“You are asking me to give you my heart again when you ruined it so thoroughly last time.” The Hobbit looks away. “And I have heard your words, I have, but there is nothing to show me you have truly missed me all this time, or that I was anything more than a passing thought once in a while.”

“What can I do?” Thorin begs. “How can I prove it?”

“I don’t know.” Bilbo sighs and he really does look pained. “I want to be with you. I do still love you. Hopelessly. But I need to trust you again and I think that’s something I need to come to on my own. Nobody can help me get there, not even you.”

He speaks over Thorin when the king tries to talk.

“I can live with loving you from afar.” His voice hardens. “I cannot survive you breaking my heart again. I know it.”

Thorin snaps his mouth shut, his protestations cut off. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing for you to apologize for, Master Baggins. We both know it is I who got us into this mess.” Thorin looks away, composing himself before he turns back. “I will keep trying. No matter what, if it is the last thing I do, I will prove you can trust me again.”

“I want you to. I want this courtship to prove me wrong.” Bilbo says softly. “Truly.”

“And I believe you.”

Thorin smiles sincerely, meaning it from his very core. This is not Bilbo’s fault. That the Hobbit can even stand to look at him, never mind want to be with him, is a miracle. Thorin does not mind working for Bilbo’s affections. He should have done it long ago. Even the chance to be with him once again is more than he deserves.

“Come.” Thorin moves to stand after allowing enough time to pass, leaving his half-eaten dish of food on the table for his servants to clear. “Let us talk by the fire. We have a Dwarf to outsmart.”

Bilbo looks at him gratefully and follows.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's having a wonderful holidays, and that you all had a great Christmas! Next update should be Wednesday!
> 
> amrâlimê – my love

It is lucky that Bilbo stays with Thorin, because otherwise he would have been forced to hear about Bilbo’s visitor that night second hand instead of being present there himself.

The knock comes late. Far later than is appropriate. Thorin and Bilbo should already be in bed and asleep; but where Thorin is sitting with drooping eyes in one of his armchairs, Bilbo still seems wide awake as he reads a book.

They have spoken about further plans concerning Hugin, but neither of them made much headway. Thorin then sharpened his sword and his axe, and polished a few of his leathers, before finally giving up to just sit down and wait Bilbo out. His attention is fixed on the Hobbit, and he watches the change in Bilbo’s facial expressions as he reads, taking note of the way his fingers clench the book and then relax when he gets to a particular scene.

He sees how Bilbo’s eyes flick up quickly to glance back at Thorin before hurriedly looking down at his book again as if pretending he isn’t watching him back. Thorin carries on no such pretense and just sits with his chin resting in his palm as he stares.

“You’re distracting,” Bilbo murmurs finally, putting the book down but holding his place with a finger.

Thorin grins. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You are so.” Those hazel eyes roll. “Just go to bed, Thorin.”

“Are you coming?” He asks, finally voicing the question he’s wondered since Bilbo had followed him to his chambers for supper.

If he went to bed now would Bilbo join him later when he was done reading? Or would he slip away back to his own rooms once Thorin is gone?

Bilbo looks back over, face shuttering. “Is that... a good idea?”

Thorin keeps his face blank. “Just to sleep, Bilbo.”

The Hobbit meets his eyes steadily, searching him, before he quickly wets his lips and nods. “Alright. Yes. Once I’m done I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Thorin smiles quickly, making Bilbo roll his eyes affectionately, before slowly lifting himself up. “Then I suppose-”

The three sharp raps on his door make him fall quiet and they both look over in surprise.

“Yes?” He calls out, trying to tamp down his irritation.

Lila opens her door and pokes her head in. “Sire. There’s someone here. She’d like to speak with you both.”

“With Master Bilbo,” a soft voice comes from behind Lila and Thorin frowns, trying to place its familiarity, until Lila opens the door wider and he and Bilbo are met with the sight of Hugin’s serving girl standing shyly behind Thorin’s guard with Dido at her back.

“Oh.”

Bilbo drops his book to the chair and stands up immediately. Thorin notices that he doesn’t save his page.

“Come in, please.” Bilbo says and Thorin bites back his warnings, moving to stand beside Bilbo in response.

“Yes, come in. Lila,” Thorin looks at her and she moves to stand with him and Bilbo immediately, passing between them and Hugin’s servant who is walking far slower.

She is tiny, for a Dwarrowdam. Her short wheat coloured beard that holds only two small braids and hair that falls to barely her shoulders once more causes Thorin to wonder just how old she really is, because she looks barely older than a child.

Her brown eyes are wide as she looks around hesitantly, taking everything in, and Thorin feels discomfort at the fact this stranger is being allowed into his own personal rooms.

“Perhaps we should move this to the office,” he says quietly to Bilbo, but the Hobbit frowns up at him.

“Please, Thorin, it’s just the parlour,” he replies before moving forward to greet the Dwarrowdam. “Hello. Your name is Twila, isn’t it?”

Thorin thinks Bilbo’s dismissal is a bit rich, given that the Hobbit is one of the most private and proper beings he’s ever met, but it seems it is out of his hands. Bilbo has made it clear he isn't as concerned as Thorin in this regard.

The Dwarrowdam nods.

“Dido,” he glances at Bilbo’s guard still waiting expectantly by the door. Smart lady. “Please get Balin for us. And perhaps Nori as well. He will likely be with Dwalin, who should probably be here too.”

Dido bows her head. “Yes, sire.”

Thorin moves his attention back to Bilbo and Twila. Bilbo’s hands are fidgeting as he stops several feet away from her, questions written all over him.

“I know I shouldn’t be here.” Fear radiates from Twila’s every twitch and breath as she nervously glances between the three of them, eyes lingering on Bilbo, before looking at the ground. “But I- I want to help. I think I can.”

“Help how?

“With what?” Thorin asks at the same time Bilbo speaks.

She glances at Thorin, biting her lower lip. It looks chewed raw, and Thorin feels- not quite concerned, exactly, but he softens a bit.

“I know you suspect him. Lord Hugin.” She trembles when she says the name. “He’s- it’s obvious, isn’t it? That it’s him?”

Bilbo and Thorin exchange glances. He is happy when Bilbo seems to understand his warning.

“Why would we suspect your boss of anything?” Bilbo asks carefully.

“Because he’s breaking the law,” she says, in a near whisper, but for the first time her eyes meet theirs fiercely. “It’s him who sent Alto.”

A bit of Thorin’s hesitation disappears. But still, this is far too strange for him to trust her immediately. “Why would you tell us this?”

She opens her mouth but it is then that the door opens again. Balin, Nori and Dwalin all come in quickly, Dwalin fully armed, Nori in a long nightshirt and hastily thrown on (if Thorin has to guess) brown trousers, and Balin in his rumpled robe from earlier today.

“Thorin, Bilbo, back up from her for Mahal’s sake!” Dwalin stomps over to them, grabbing their arms to wrench them a few steps away. “She could be armed-”

“You really think we’d let her in here without searching her?” Lila scoffs and Dido rolls her eyes.

“Well you’re foolish enough to let them get too close, aren’t you?” Dwalin rebuts.

“Hush brother,” Balin moves to stand with them, taking Twila in. “She looks frightened.”

“Dwalin has that effect,” Nori mutters, moving to go right to her, bending his head to meet her eyes. Despite his words his face is fierce. “Are you here as a spy for Hugin?”

Her eyes are wide again but she shakes her head quickly. “No, I’m not. I swear.”

“Hmm.” Nori steps back. “I guess we’ll just have to decide that for ourselves.”

She nods. “I just- I want to help. I want him gone. Please.” Again she stares at them all imploringly. “You’re the only ones I can think of who can do it. Now that- now that he’s tried to come after you, surely that’s enough to imprison him? Or banish him?” She swallows audibly, picking at her thin white shirt. “Please, you have to make him stop.”

“Easy now.” Balin is frowning. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, hm?”

“Usually I wouldn’t dare do this.” Twila continues quietly. “But lately I thought- you are suspicious, aren’t you? I saw how you talked to him, on the way to the cells this morning. Alto’s told you it’s Lord Hugin, hasn’t he?”

Thorin cocks his head.

“And you,” she looks at Bilbo. “You’re not- I thought- he said you’d be so different. That you were cruel. But you’re not. Earlier, with the papers- you helped me.”

Bilbo blinks. “Um.”

But she is already looking away back to Thorin.

“It’s always been too dangerous. Before. To try and stop him, I mean. But you- you’re the king.” She says, slightly choked. “If anyone can stop him it’s you.”

“Twila,” Bilbo breaks in gently. “You need to tell us everything.”

She looks at him only for a moment before nodding and focusing her attention down.

“I was going to tell you earlier. That's why I left the papers there. But you were all... I couldn't. He would have noticed I was missing eventually. He’s smart.” She says quietly, looking steadily at the floor. “Usually. Something about you is different.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asks.

“Not you, Your Majesty.” She glances quickly at Bilbo. “Him. Master Hugin’s making mistakes.”

“How, Twila?” Thorin demands, making the Dwarrowdam flinch again. Bilbo shoots him a loaded look and he makes an effort to gentle his tone. “What do you mean?’

“He’s been smart.” She repeats. “He’s never gone after somebody more powerful than him before. Nobody who’s been able to get back at him or stop the things he does. He’s always come out on top because he’s never made mistakes.

“But you…” She looks at Bilbo again in something close to wonder. “You’ve made him angrier than I’ve ever seen. He’s lashing out. He’s _making mistakes_.” She sounds a little less timid now. “He’s never tried to take down someone more powerful than him before. But you’re the king. There’s nobody with more power than you.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” Balin interjects. “The Council-”

“Are only powerful if he listens to them.” Twila finally looks at Thorin. “Master Hugin says that Master Baggins is the only one who can control the king. And it’s not until we get rid of him that the king will leave the ruling of Erebor to the Council.”

“Hugin wants the Council to rule Erebor in Thorin’s stead? Surely he knows that if anything happens to Thorin the power of the crown will pass to Fíli.”

She licks her lips slightly, now studiously avoiding looking at Thorin. “He wants the king alive but too heartbroken to rule. Lord Hugin believes that killing Master Baggins will make him too grief stricken to look over the kingdom, but that King Thorin would keep the crown to spare his nephew from kingly duties for as long as possible. Master Hugin hopes that he would then leave the true ruling of the kingdom to the Council.” She pauses. “He controls most of them you know. On the Council.”

“What do you mean?” Dwalin demands. “How?”

“He’s spent years using politics to climb the ladder to power.” She’s so quiet Thorin strains to hear her. “He’ll threaten family members, use blackmail, extortion, send assassins and set fires to product and property. In the end they are all desperate with no other choices, he makes sure of it. Hugin ruins people, and all they care about, before stepping in and offering it all back on a silver platter; with one condition.”

“Service to him.” Bilbo answers.

“Yes.” She nods. “He has my brother locked up for stealing a loaf of bread. He took me as his servant in return for paying off our debts. We're poor, you see, and we have nothing." She looks down." If I don’t do what he says then he has my brother beaten.”

Horror washes over Bilbo’s face. Thorin feels his stomach fall.

“Where?” He growls, shocking even himself with the force of his own fury. “Here in Erebor?”

The thought that this is happening right under his very nose makes his blood boil. Twila nods, confirming it at last, and he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to go and search the entire castle right now.

“We have to free him. Him, Osha, and any others.” Bilbo looks at Thorin who only nods, still watching her.

Twila worries her lower lip. “Lord Hugin will have him killed before you reach him. I know it. There are spies watching you, when they can. He doesn’t have many on his payroll but those who are hold powerful positions and are extremely desperate.”

“That makes them dangerous.” Dwalin says.

“But maybe not just to us.” Bilbo points out. “Forced loyalty is not loyalty at all. They might help us, if they believe we can protect them.”

It is a troubling idea, that there is a Dwarf trying to wrestle control from him, but Thorin can’t find it in himself to be surprised at it. What makes him more concerned is that there is a small number of Dwarves in his own kingdom and Council who have been bullied into compliance.

“Thorin.” Balin breaks in. “This is it. This is what we need to sentence Hugin.” He turns to Twila. “If you would be willing to swear to this, and testify before the Council in a hearing, it would be enough to pass judgement.”

“We need to find those Dwarves,” Bilbo says. “As soon as possible.”

“Which will give us more proof.” Nori adds. “Twila, tell me, do you have access to Hugin’s papers? If his network is as large as you say he’ll have some sort of paper trail, there’s no way a single Dwarf could keep this straight in his head.”

“I- maybe. If I knew he was gone, that I wouldn’t be caught-”

“We will make sure of that.” Thorin finally speaks, voice heavy. He’s shaken by this, by the fact that something this corrupt was able to grow in his kingdom without him or anyone he trusted being made aware. “You have my word.”

She dips her head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Thorin nods before turning to his Captain of the Guard. “Dwalin, we’ve wasted enough time. I want Hugin arrested now. Break down his door if you must. Twila,” Thorin turns to her, making an effort to gentle his tone. “Do you know where your brother is being kept?”

She shakes her head.

“We’ll find him. In the meantime, do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes sire,” she bows her head. “Should I- Can I go?”

He exchanges a look with Balin who shrugs and Thorin nods. “Yes. If we need your help searching for anything we’ll find you. I’ll send a guard with you.”

“Yes, sire. Thank you, sire.” She hesitates though, looking at Bilbo. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Master Baggins. You- you seem kind, and not at all how I thought you would be. I was wrong, to make assumptions about you.”

Bilbo’s face softens even further and Thorin’s heart stirs at the sight, and Twila’s words. “Thank you, Twila. You’re hardly the first, but I… appreciate that, very much.”

Memories of how Thorin and the others had treated Bilbo the first weeks of their journey come to him unwanted, and he looks away guiltily, watching as Nori and Dwalin do the same. Balin, the traitor, looks at them all knowingly.

Thorin clears his throat, breaking the moment. Twila leaves, escorted by a guard Dido has brought from seemingly nowhere. “Go Dwalin.”

His friend leaves immediately. “Nori go with him. Search Hugin’s living space after Dwalin takes him and then get Twila if you haven’t found anything. Leave nothing unlooked. I want anything suspicious in our possession for evidence.”

“If Hugin doesn’t give us permission to look around-”

“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. Damn the law. “No one needs to know and I’m past the point of sticking to protocol. This has carried on long enough and there will be enough witnesses to prove nothing has been forged and Hugin isn’t being framed. Is that enough for you?”

Balin bites his lip but Thorin can tell from the set of his shoulders and look in his eyes that he is no happier than the rest of them. “Yes, that will do. As long as you allow what we find to be used I don’t think anyone can override you.”

“Exactly.” He sighs, stroking his chin absently, and finally turns to Bilbo who is watching him closely. “What else would you like me to do?”

Bilbo looks surprised. “Me?”

“Yes.” He waits. Bilbo doesn’t say anything. “Surely there’s something I’ve missed?”

“I…” Bilbo shrugs helplessly. “Not that I can think of. Though you probably should speak to Fíli and Kíli about all this.” He pauses. “Maybe your sister too.”

“That is a good idea,” Balin agrees. “We’ve kept this in our control long enough. Now that we know for certain who the real culprit is, surely we don’t need to be worried about letting anything slip, and they would be helpful in coordinating more people to help us.”

“Do not allow your confidence to trick you into mistakes, Balin.” Thorin warns warily, but he agrees.

“I will speak to them tomorrow.” He decides and looks to Balin. “I want Hugin put on the mountainside cells if he does not respond to questioning. Every day I want him questioned again until he finally admits everything. Give him little food and water.”

Bilbo makes a strangled sound. “Thorin, is that-”

“Peace, Bilbo.” He begins to pace, mind racing. “I know Hugin’s character. He is smart, to have gotten away with this for so long, but he is a coward. A lord who has never done well when forced to go without, I remember that well from our time in Ered Luin. He will break, and when he does I will be there to hear him.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo says softly, reaching out to grab his hand. “Do not allow him to make you cruel.”

But Thorin will not be swayed, not this time. He stops pacing to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “Think of Twila’s brother and any others he may have hidden away. Think of what he has tried to do to you and Tauriel, of the people whose thoughts he has poisoned. Think of what he is and the things he has done, the things he is willing to do, and tell me, Bilbo, that a night of sleeping outside and a few days with minimal food is too harsh.”

He waits but Bilbo says nothing.

“This is war, _amrâlimê_. Perhaps not the kind we are used to, but war all the same. One must defend one’s values and beliefs when it comes to defending others, or risk standing by and watching them suffer. As king I have that power Bilbo, and I must help those who do not.”

Bilbo swallows, his face hard. “You’re right.”

Thorin nods.

“But if you’re wrong and it’s not only a few days, then we risk becoming more like him than I’m comfortable with, Thorin.”

“I understand. It will not be longer than that. If he does not break by then than we will try something else.”

But Thorin is confident in his assumptions. He knows what kind of Dwarf Hugin is by now, and it is the worst kind. Strong only so long as he picks on those weaker than him. Spineless when it truly matters. Of weak will and weak morals, he is not someone Thorin can find an ounce of sympathy for.

Bilbo seems satisfied with that and he sighs. “I know you’re likely dying to go out and meet them at the cells but we’ve both had a long day. I think we should go to bed.”

Thorin shakes his head. “You go. Get some sleep. I need to start planning.”

“For what?”

“The Council.” He clenches his fists. “Twila said Hugin has bought many of them off. I have my suspicions of who that might be, but I won’t be certain until we question them all. I’ll need to speak to Dwalin and Balin about calling in extra guards to work tomorrow. And there is Sazeed, he should be detained in case he tries anything, and questioned. Though I don’t…” He trails off, sighing heavily. The idea of imprisoning Sazeed after hearing why the Dwarf is so angry doesn’t entirely sit right with him. “I need to speak to Freya. To organize the guard and arrange for the arrests of anyone who may be involved.”

Bilbo looks at him for a few moments, and Thorin doesn’t know what he sees on his face but it is enough to make the Hobbit’s features settle in grim determination.

“Right then, we’d best get started.”

For a moment Thorin is helpless to do anything but stare at him and wonder how in all of Middle-Earth he got so lucky. When he finally regains himself he turns to lead the way to his office.

It is going to be a long night.

* * *

The other members of the Durin family line are less than impressed when Thorin updates them on everything the next morning.

Dis and Fíli and Kíli stare at him with stony faces. It throws him off, even though he knows their anger isn’t directed at him, and Thorin finds it most disconcerting on his nephews, who are usually so easy for him to read. This time he is met with identical indecipherable expressions.

Dis is easier. Her fury has always come out in sharp, tense lines in her face. In the cool steel of her eyes as she prepares to eviscerate whoever has inspired her anger with nothing more than her words.

It is not only them, either, but Tauriel and Legolas as well. Legolas has been informed of Hugin’s arrest as a courtesy, nothing more, but looking at the two Elves Thorin acknowledges that Bilbo’s idea to invite the Elf Prince had been a good one. He deserves to know too, especially given their promise to work together.

The blue eyes are flinty as the Elf speaks. “He must be punished.”

“We are working on it.” Thorin replies, looking back at him steadily, daring him for a challenge.

Though the prince opens his mouth he seems to think better of whatever he’d been about to say and changes tack. “What is your people’s response to such indecency?”

Thorin exchanges a look with Dis at the wording, knowing they are on the same side- exasperation towards the Elves and their sly and insulting indirect wording is always something they will share.

“He is being questioned and we are gathering further evidence.”

“And looking for those he seems to have hidden away.” Bilbo interjects. “Though we haven’t had any success with that yet.”

“No.” Fury and frustration makes Thorin’s face darken. “But we will. Soon.”

“And if there is no evidence to be found?” This time the concern comes from Dis. “You forget, Thorin, that we know Hugin as well. We know how crafty he can be.”

“We have a witness now in Twila.” Thorin says. “Two if you count Alto. And Balin, Dwalin and I are confident that we will have more than enough to make an irrefutable case against him, likely by the end of the day.”

A runner this morning had come to inform him that the others had found some things last night to confirm Twila’s claims. Balin had specifically instructed the Dwarrowdam to tell Thorin it was enough to start with, but that he was confident they would find more than enough by the end of today, especially with Twila’s help.

“And Thorin and Dwalin seem confident that Hugin himself will confess.” Bilbo says to them all.

Fíli takes him in intently. “You’re sure you’re alright, Bilbo?”

“Perfectly. Not a scratch on me, remember?”

Fíli nods but Tauriel leans towards the Hobbit. “I should challenge Hugin for the threat made to you my friend.”

“Oh.” Bilbo shakes his head before she is even finished speaking. “There’s absolutely no need for that, Tauriel, I assure you. I just want this handled and done with. Without violence, if possible.”

Kíli is frowning and staring down at the floor. Thorin waits to see if anyone else is going to speak before doing so himself. “Kíli?”

Those familiar blue eyes look up at him. Thorin doesn’t like the look in them. “So all of the letters and threats to Tauriel, the mistreatment she and Bilbo have faced, it’s all down to Hugin?”

Thorin hesitates. “We don’t know yet just how far his influence runs. Some of it may be other Dwarves harbouring old resentments, perhaps those he works with. But most likely yes, he has played some part in influencing or encouraging it all.”

Kíli takes that in with deep consideration before nodding with blazing eyes. “Uncle, surely you’ll have him shorn and banished for this?”

Dis gasps but Fíli is nodding along with his brother. Legolas appears confused but he doesn’t say anything to interrupt.

Thorin feels his own anger begin to stir at the subject alone but he tries to control himself. “If it were up to me-”

“We need to wait and see how much we can prove first before suggesting a sentence.” Bilbo cuts in reasonably. He has that tone he always uses in political mediations with Thranduil, one that Thorin has dubbed his political voice, and looks at the others one at a time seriously. “Even then, it may not be up to Thorin.”

Legolas frowns. “Why not? I understand when you say you cannot pass judgement alone, but surely you can suggest a course of action?”

“I am the one making the accusation against Hugin.” Thorin reminds them. “Therefore it may not be wise for me to preside over this trial. Or to appear to have any influence over it.”

“Why you accusing him? Why not Bilbo and I?” Tauriel cocks her head.

“It must be a citizen of Erebor.” Thorin and Bilbo had only realized this last night, and he is still trying to think of some way around it. “Right now you and Bilbo are considered special guests. Even with the title of Dwarf-friend neither of you qualify quite yet. This will change with your marriage to Kíli, Tauriel.”

Thorin leaves it unsaid that his marriage to Bilbo would change Bilbo’s status as well, but from the way everyone looks between them it is clear the same thought has entered their minds anyway.

“You should have told us immediately last night, Thorin.” Dis scolds. “We could have been helping more. Speaking to Twila, learning her history, anything that could help us find these Dwarves faster.”

Thorin purses his lips but nods, not having the energy to repeat his reasoning or fight with her. “Now that all of you are aware, I ask you all to be cautious. Tensions are high among the nobles, particularly those on the Council, and I need everyone to act calmly. We have this under our control and have hopefully avoided the worst.”

He is given nods in response.

Tauriel speaks again. “Can I help with coordinating the guards, or searching? I would like to try looking for Twila’s brother and any others Hugin has harmed.”

“Me too.”

“And me!” Kíli and Fíli pipe up.

Legolas shrugs. “I can lend a hand as well.”

Thorin glanced at Bilbo who shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Balin is coordinating efforts in that regard.”

He scans them all. “Are we finished?”

“Yes. Thank you for informing me.” Legolas rises and leaves swiftly before Thorin can answer; though truthfully he isn’t sure what he would have said in reply anyway.

“I will go and find Balin.” Tauriel agrees. “Kíli?”

“I’m coming too.” Kíli stops on their way out by Bilbo. “I know I said it yesterday, but I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Kíli.” Bilbo replies.

“Wait for me,” Fíli grumbles and shuffles after them both, but not before shooting Thorin one last meaningful look.

Right. A note for the future, Thorin thinks. Keep Fíli as informed as possible.

In the end it is only Dis who remains with her arms crossed and an unhappy scowl on her face. She doesn’t speak until minutes after the door has closed.

“How did we miss this?”

Thorin flinches, feeling the accusation. “I don’t know.”

She steamrolls on. “This is a direct threat to the people we love! How in all of Middle-Earth could all of us be so blind and allow it to get this far? Bilbo was attacked in his own chambers-!”

“I am aware.” Thorin interrupts her sharply, so forcefully that she falters and stares at him in surprise. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to regain his composure. “We know, Dis.”

Their stares hold and Thorin sees the moment she lets some of her fear and anger drain away. “I just hate to think of what could have happened. Or that we have been so ignorant. Our own neighbours, some of the Dwarves we’ve known for years! Nobles we grew up with, that we’ve survived and struggled with!”

“If it helps, I think Thorin is right.” Bilbo suggests. “We’ve been tipped off early enough that we have a chance to avoid any further risk or violence. No one is hurt. Now we need to act. It won’t do any good to fume if we do nothing else.”

“You do not yet know how well I can multitask, Bilbo.” Dis mutters, but she nods and stands up. “Very well. I will work with Dwalin. I believe Balin has enough extra hands with the others, and besides.” A wicked glint enters her eye. “I may be just what it takes to make Hugin break.”

“I am sure he stands no chance against you, sister.” Thorin says and moves to stand eye-level with her. “Thank you.”

“Oh, Thorin.” She mutters his name fondly and reaches out to clasp his arm firmly. “You’ll do my heart in, I swear you will. You’re worse than the boys.”

He splutters at that incredulously. The boys, honestly? Dis really does know how to make her point. Bilbo chuckles and stands too.

“Be careful,” Dis murmurs to them both as she goes to leave. “And here I thought we would all be free and safe after reclaiming Erebor. Little did I know.”

“We’ll be fine, Dis.” Bilbo reassures her, smiling gently.

“You better be.” She answers. “My boys aren’t ready to run this kingdom and I don’t particularly yearn for the job myself. We need you two to stick around.”

“You concern is noted,” Thorin says drily. “Now go help Dwalin.”

“Very well.” She gives them both one last look before leaving.

Thorin turns to Bilbo. “I know it’s only the morning but I’m exhausted already.”

“Me too.” Bilbo moves to wrap his arms around Thorin, pressing his head to Thorin’s chest for a moment of peace before pulling away just as quickly. “Now, shall we go through the evidence Nori’s found?”

Thorin holds in another tired sigh and turns to his desk as well. “Yes, I suppose we should. Do you want this pile or that one?”

* * *

The next afternoon Balin asks Thorin and Fíli to come to a meeting in the council room. Thorin gets there last and he enters with Dwalin dogging his heels.

He isn’t surprised by the room’s occupants. Nori, Balin and the others have been busy in the past day and Thorin feels a surge of pride at the efficiency of his Company as he takes in the faces that greet him in the room.

Guards ring the walls. Less than 10, but enough to handle any disruptions or threats any of the Dwarves in here may pose.

The others in the room are three members of the council. Sochy, head of the marketplace, calmly takes in the Dwarrows around her and looks on proudly from her seat. Dunder, head of communications, and Londo, who is in charge of reparations, stand on either side of where she sits, faces pale and mouths grim.

Thorin doesn’t move far from the doorway. The chance of an ambush or some other sort of trick is slim, as he hopes they’ve caught Hugin and his accomplices unaware, but it is never an impossibility. Balin looks satisfied as he comes to stand with Thorin and Dwalin though, and his confidence sets Thorin at ease.

Fíli is sitting across from them all looking so upset that Thorin almost orders him to go. He wonders what has been said before he arrived, and then decides he would rather not know.

He takes in the guilty Dwarves, and the keen feeling of betrayal is bitter on his tongue. His eyes meet Dunder’s for a moment and the Dwarf blanches further and looks down immediately.

“Well?” He asks into the dead quiet of the room.

He’s not sure who he’s asking. He’s not sure what he’s asking.

“Please,” Dunder starts immediately, making a move to step towards Thorin and the others but stopping when the guards place threatening hands on their weapons. Fíli stands up in a flash, ready to move if necessary. “It’s all a misunderstanding, Your Majesty, this entire situation has gotten out of hand.”

Thorin stares at him unimpressed before turning to Balin.

“Dunder confessed to working with Hugin.” He murmurs. “Evidence was found in Sochy and Londo’s apartments.” The old Dwarf’s eyes are steel as he continues. “Sochy’s been hiding Dwarves throughout Erebor.”

Thorin looks back to her, sees the challenge on her face, and lets his disgust show. “Has she?”

It’s rhetorical and he doesn’t wait for an answer, instead turning back to Dunder though it takes everything he has not to demand whether the kidnapped Dwarves have been recovered. “A misunderstanding, you say. Explain how.”

“He tricked us! All of us. At least he did me, I’m innocent of this. All this talk of hurting the Elf and that Hobbit, I knew nothing about it, and of kidnapping other Dwarves-”

“Shut up, Dunder.” Sochy sounds as if she loathes even having to address him “You fool.”

“Don’t you try and give me orders now, Sochy, you and Hugin are the ones who got us into this mess.” Dunder doesn’t seem to feel much warmth towards her either if the look on his face is anything to go by.

“I had no dealings with you.”

“No, but if what they say you’ve done is true-”

Her lip curls. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Kidnapping other Dwarves, Sochy?” Londo speaks for the first time since Thorin arrived, voice quiet and disappointed. “Really?”

For a moment her composure seems to crack as she turns her neck to crane her head and look up at him. “You don’t know what I owe him,” she replies. “He’s the only reason I’m sitting here now.”

It occurs to Thorin that Londo and Sochy have known one another most of their lives. Their families used to be neighbours, before Smaug came, if he recalls correctly.

The Council had all taken bets on whether the two of them would end up as more than lifelong friends.

Not for the first time he thinks of what Dís had said earlier and remembers that these are members of his Council. Dwarves he’s known and trusted for years. He’s closer to some than others, yes, but these are his advisors, his go-betweens. He has counted on them to serve him and Erebor. He has listened to them complain about their duties and make jokes. Thorin has been there to see many of them find love and get married. He knows many of their parents and other family.

And Sochy and Londo… they’re older than Thorin. He used to respect them for their age and experience alone. To be confronted with them like this is painful.

He looks at Fíli and finds his nephew already watching him, waiting to see what he’ll do. The torn confusion is clear in his eyes and Thorin feels his resolve return.

“Enough.” He breaks in, taking the three of them in again. “Your words are worthless when the evidence against you is so damning. You have been brought here for a last chance at redemption. If you help us then you will be doing the right thing after years of wrong.”

Dunder nods, standing away from the other two now. He sniffles. “Yes, yes, anything, please, Your Majesty-”

Thorin nods, more concerned with the others. “Thank you, Dunder.”

He wonders how Dunder has gotten mixed up in all of this. Thorin doesn’t know his family as well as some of the others, since Dunder is one of the few noble Dwarves from the Blue Mountains who had come to Erebor after it was reclaimed, but looking at him he is struck with just how young the Dwarf seems. He can’t be much older than Kíli really, Thorin thinks as he takes in the still growing light-coloured beard on his face. It makes him wonder how much of this Dunder is involved in exactly, and whether his views align with Hugin’s or if he is just young and easily manipulated.

Londo crosses his arms. “I’ll talk if it will help sentence Hugin to death.”

Thorin’s eyes cut to him sharply. “You wish him executed?”

“Aye.” His face is hard. “That Dwarf’s a stain on Erebor, and all of Middle-Earth. There’s not a pit fit for Hugin Fuginson to reside.”

“Why help him if you detest him so much?”

Londo looks like he’s bitten into something bitter. “My family lost everything after Smaug came. Hugin lent us enough money to keep up appearances and start again in the Blue Mountains.” He looks to the side. “But we dug ourselves so deep that it’s impossible to get out. He’s called in every favour he can, and we still owe him everything we have. My family would be in the mines if it weren’t for him. Besides,” he meets Thorin’s eyes again. “I did agree with him on this. Elves and Hobbits having sway over the royal family of Erebor? It’s not right.”

“It’s unnatural, is what it is.” Sochy breaks in venomously. “Mixed race relationships? Mahal would never want such a thing. It’s a test for us all, to prove our purity. They’re a scourge in our kingdom, one that we need to be rid of.”

“Why you piece of filth,” Dwalin growls while stepping forward threateningly, but Balin stops him with a hand on his arm.

Thorin takes in the two of them coldly, feeling almost detached from himself and all he is hearing. He spares a moment to be grateful that neither Bilbo nor Tauriel are there to hear this.

“You’re wrong.” Fíli says earnestly. “You don’t know them.”

He is talking mostly to Dunder, Thorin notes, and he frowns. Perhaps Fíli knows Dunder better than Thorin had realized. With them being similar in age it is not impossible.

The thought sets him ill-at-ease.

“You are wrong.” He agrees with his nephew. “But if all your years of life have not been enough to teach you that than I know we have no hope to. I have no wish to waste our time on such worthless beings as you, and it is not our responsibility to do so.”

He meets Londo and Sochy’s eyes. “Besides, as you will both be exiled from Erebor I no longer see how you two will be our problem.”

Their mouths fall open. “You can’t be serious!”

“Your Majesty-”

“Not you, Dunder.” He answers the young Dwarf, taking him in again. “You will suffer your sentence here. But if what you say is true and you had no knowledge of the plot against Bilbo or Tauriel, than I do not think you deserve the same severity as these two.”

The young Dwarf looks relieved. “It is true, I swear.”

Londo glances between them before sighing. “It’s true. All he did was follow Hugin’s lead in voting during Council meetings and unknowingly pay for the assassin.”

Dunder’s face washes over with horror. “Hugin said that loan was for expanding trade!”

“What are you telling them that, for?” Sochy demands from Londo at the same time.

Londo shakes his head. “This is our mess, Sochy. And while I stand by what we’ve done, there’s no reason for Dunder to be punished for it. He’s young enough that this will ruin his whole life.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sochy turns away. “If he’s fool enough to want to stay in this failing kingdom than he should live with the consequences of his actions.”

“You will all live with it.” Thorin says. “But it is clear Dunder is not involved to the degree you both are.” He turns to the young Dwarf. “You knew nothing of the plot against Bilbo?”

Dunder shakes his head. “No. I knew- some friends of mine sent some things to the Elf-lass. Rude letters. But that’s all I ever knew about involving the Elf or Hobbit directly.”

“That is bad enough,” Thorin replies but moves on from it. “What did you do for Hugin?”

Dunder shrugs. “My family comes from the Blue Mountains. We’re one of the oldest lines there, and the wealthiest. But I’m a third son, sire, without hope of inheriting the family business or becoming a soldier. I wanted to prove myself.” He cocks his head a bit. “When it was announced you had reclaimed Erebor and a group were travelling here to join you I thought that was my chance. Hugin heard of my plans somehow and promised he would help me rise to prominence. He did. He got me this Council seat and a slew of contacts. I’ve made my family name here. In return all he wanted was funding for some of his own projects.” His face darkens. “But I thought those projects were business expansion. He would give me money here and there, saying it was some profits from what we’d made together, so I thought it was legitimate. I never thought to look into what it was.”

“Why?” Balin asks, sounding baffled.

Dunder shrugs again. “I didn’t care. It was nice to pay him back for what he’d done for me, and I didn’t need the money. When he gave me coin back it seemed obvious he was really making something, otherwise that meant it was money coming out of his pocket, which wouldn’t make sense if he needed funding from me.” He looks down. “I trusted him.”

“He used you, Dunder.” Fíli announces. “You were always the one he would use to take the fall for this. The money trail for all of his shady dealings in Erebor lead back to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But Fíli, you have to believe me, I didn’t know that’s what he was using it for.”

“Even if you didn’t,” Thorin says, “your senseless giving away of your money allowed for this to happen. You’ve been a fool.”

Dunder flinches. “I know.”

“I need to know that you do not intend anyone in Erebor harm if I allow you to remain here. That includes any cruelty from your friends as well.”

Dunder shifts uncomfortably.

Thorin sighs.

“I cannot force you to like any of the other races, Dunder.” He is losing his patience with this. Where are this Dwarve’s parents? Who is there that can guide and counsel him? Dunder is wealthy and has a large amount of sway, as he said, but in the hands of someone as oblivious as him it is a danger.

“But I will not allow threats like that here. Erebor is an inclusive kingdom and we are moving on from our prejudices. If you cannot agree to that you are more than welcome to carry out your sentence and then leave to go back to the Blue Mountains.”

The Dwarf hesitates. “I won’t hurt anyone.” He says finally. “But I won’t promise to stay here after I carry out my sentence either.”

“That is up to you,” Thorin replies.

Dunder nods. “Then I give my word, sire, that I will not cause harm to anyone in Erebor, and if I hear of anyone else intending to cause unnecessary harm I will report it.”

“And would you be willing to testify against Hugin if he demands a trial?”

Dunder hesitates again, glancing around the room at them all, eyes landing on Fíli before he sighs. “Yes.”

Good.

“Very well.” Thorin speaks, adopting his most authoritative tone. “Then Dunder Yunderson, I sentence you to five years of hard labour in the mines. You will be under the close supervision of Bofur of the -Ur brothers. In the meantime, your titles will be stripped and your assets will be frozen, as you obviously are not capable of properly controlling them. Do I make myself clear?”

Dunder’s mouth works for a moment as he takes the judgement in before he looks down. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Go.” Thorin says, jerking his head. “Fíli, I’d like you to take two guards and go with him. Make sure he begins to put his affairs in order.”

“I should stay-”

“Fíli.” Thorin allows no argument. “Go. You will be brought up to date after.”

His nephew scowls but then looks back towards Dunder and acquiesces. “Yes, Uncle.”

Thorin waits until they have gone before turning back to Londo and Sochy. “As for you two.”

Londo stands and waits patiently, his face set. Thorin feels another pang go through him because he knows Londo. He has principles, even if they appear to be the wrong sort. Londo has always been a Dwarf of justice, one who believes in following the law. He is steady, and Thorin used to think he was good.

“Londo Xondoson.”

“Sire.”

Thorin shakes his head. “I have made it clear what I think of you and your actions. Is there anything else you would like to say? To confess?”

“Demand a trial, Londo.” Sochy hisses.

Thorin crosses his arms. Even if Londo does demand a trial rather than accept a sentence from Thorin, he is sure a jury of Dwarves will come to the same conclusion he has. He picks the jurors, after all, unless he demands a trial from the impartial Council members. Either way, Thorin doesn’t think Londo’s chances are high.

Londo ignores her. “I am guilty of knowing about and helping plan the plot to kill the Hobbit.” He says. “And of following Hugin’s whims when it came to voting on Erebor policies, or counselling you in your decisions. I have also supplied Hugin with the blueprints of Erebor. They include all the rooms and tunnels known to us in the Construction Guild.”

“Those blueprints were found in Sochy’s quarters.” Balin supplies.

Londo’s mouth went thin. “I had no knowledge of _that_. Or anything about holding other Dwarves as leverage.”

“Londo-”

“No, Sochy.” He turns burning eyes on her. “How can you rationalize that in the eyes of Mahal? Injustice against fellow Dwarves would not be His will.”

She winces and falls silent again.

Thorin calls the conversation back to order. “You will be willing to testify against Hugin?”

For Hugin will demand a trial, Thorin knows. He will try anything he can to use his silvertongue to weasel his way out of this mess he’s made. Luckily Thorin and the others are planning for that.

“I will.”

Thorin nods. “Then Londo Xondoson I exile you from Erebor. Letters will go out to the other Dwarven kingdoms detailing your crimes and dishonour and it will be up to them whether or not to accept you. If they will not, then you will have no choice but to survive alone or find a home amongst the people you claim to hate so much. Your titles will be taken from you, as will anything you can not carry on your back and one pony. You do have a pony?”

“I have several.”

“You may keep two.” Thorin allows. “And be grateful I give you that much. Now, your family-”

Londo looks at him sharply. “They know nothing of this. Any of it.”

Thorin stares him down. “If that is true, then they have nothing to fear and may stay or follow you as they wish; though I will only allow them one pony each for any belongings they manage to bring. Your family’s debts will be forgiven here in Erebor regardless of what they choose, and any ancestors of yours will be allowed to return. You, however, may not.”

Londo nods. “I understand.”

“Good.” The door opens behind him and Thorin glances back to see Nori slip in the room quietly. He looks at the other Dwarf questioningly but Nori waves him away so he refocuses his attention.

“Then you may go with an armed guard and ready yourself to leave. The remainder of your time in Erebor will be spent in a cell, and on the day of Hugin’s trial I expect you gone by sunset.”

Four of the guards move to surround Londo and Thorin watches as he is escorted away. He turns to Balin once the door has closed. “You’ve questioned his family?”

“Yes. It’s as he said, none of them were involved. His parents had no idea, and the age they are I doubt they could do much anyway. And his sisters both haven’t had contact with the family in years. One chose to stay in Ered Luin after Smaug and the other married a Dwarrowdam a few years ago. Apparently they haven’t had any contact since.”

“Hmm.” Thorin’s brows furrow in surprise. He hadn’t realized some of the families are still old-fashioned enough to be prejudiced against same-sex couples. That is a traditional way of thinking that he thought had been wiped out even before his grandfather’s time.

He moves over to Nori. “I want someone to watch Londo and his family to see what they decide and that they don’t try and dupe us. The guards may not be enough.”

“Done.” Nori says and then lowers his voice. “When you’re done with her, I need you down in the dungeons with me. Hugin’s ready to break.”

Victory sweeps through Thorin. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He remarks and takes a step back towards the door.

“I’ll come after this.”

Nori nods, eyes sliding to Sochy. Distaste is clear in his expression. “Thorin.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve found everyone we know was missing.” Nori says. “But even so. Make her pay for it.”

Thorin swallows. He and Bilbo had been told that the others were found this morning- that is where Bilbo is now, tending to them and getting their account of everything- but the reminder of the state some of them were found in isn’t a nice one.

“Anything I should be aware of?”

“Nothing that I didn’t brief you on earlier.” Nori says.

A few broken bones are the worst of the injuries, but from the look of some of the captives that hasn’t been the worst they’ve endured. Nori had said they’d scarfed down the food and drink brought to them, and Thorin shudders to know what else might have been happening behind closed doors.

It is more than Thorin is comfortable with in his own kingdom. “Good.”

“But she knew.” Nori jerks his head to Sochy who is watching them with narrowed eyes, even though they are talking too quietly for her to hear. “She organized and oversaw all of that. The worst punishment we have, Thorin, that’s what she deserves.”

“I do not disagree.” He murmurs. “And I’ll let you know what happens when I join you and Hugin. Who is with him now?”

“Freya. And I’ll leave now. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Nori goes then and Thorin turns back to Sochy.

“Well, Your Majesty?” She tilts her chin up in defence. “What do you have to ask me? I won’t tell you a thing.”

“Your loyalty is misplaced.” Thorin moves towards her, feeling Dwalin and Balin close at his back. She stays sitting but watches him warily. The remaining four guards move in as well to stand at the chair’s sides. “And foolish.”

“Why?”

“Your cause is abhorrent.” Thorin says. “And doomed to fail.”

“There are more Dwarves who share our sentiments than you realize, Thorin son of Thráin son of Thrór.”

Balin growls and Dwalin’s voice is vicious when he hisses, “you keep their names from your mouth.”

She smiles. “Please. A dying line of monarchs plagued with madness are not who Erebor needs to rule. We need a Dwarf like Hugin. One who knows our values and honours our ways. Not one who brings a stunted Halfling into their bed-”

Thorin surges forward but hands grip his arms, hauling him back. His chest is heaving when he speaks through gritted teeth. “Have care.” He warns. “I am who decides your fate.”

“You are nothing but an empty figurehead.” Sochy hisses. “It is Mahal who decides our paths, and mine is carved in stone. I have chosen, and only Hugin and I alone will be accepted into his Hall, even if you do choose to execute us.”

Thorin smiles. “Hugin has confessed and repented.” He says. “It seems that you’ll be sitting in that hall of yours alone.”

“A pity.” Dwalin tacks on insincerely. “Maybe you’ll find some decency in there if you look hard enough.”

Thorin finally shoulders his friends’ hands off of him to stand straight. “There is nothing more I wish to ask you. Your feelings are clear and you are no use to me or Erebor.”

She grins. “You don’t get to decide that. I demand a trial.”

“Very well.” Thorin shrugs. “Members of my Company will make up your jury.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s not allowed. Jurors must-”

“Be citizens of Erebor.” Thorin finishes for her. “I think you’ll find that Bifur, Óin and Dori all meet that requirement.”

For the first time she looks nervous. “This isn’t fair. When the citizens of Erebor hear about this-”

“They’ll thank us, I’m sure.” Thorin turns away. “For getting rid of such foul people like you from their home.”

“No!” She demands. “I call for a trial from the Members of the Council. The impartial members.” She adds hastily.

He pauses, mouth thinning. Still, it will make no difference. What Sochy has done is repugnant, and once it is made public to the Dwarves of Erebor the Council will have to find her guilty, even if they might disagree.

Though Thorin cannot imagine that being the case.

“Very well.” He addresses Dwalin and the guards. “Take her to the cells. She can wait there until the day of her trial.”

“You’ll never get away with this!” She yells as Thorin and Balin leave. “There will be an uproar! Dwarves will storm the prisons to free me! Mahal will damn you all!”

Thorin turns to look back at her from the doorway. “According to you I’m damned anyway. I may as well make the most of it.”

He leaves to the sound of Dwalin’s laughter and Sochy’s outraged yells.

* * *

Thorin enters the cell with Balin to see Nori with his arms crossed and wearing an amused smirk as he faces a chained up Hugin.

As soon as Hugin catches sight of Thorin his face twists in anger. “What are you doing here?”

“I have come to hear you confess,” Thorin states. “Am I too late?”

Hugin stares him down. “I have done nothing.”

“No?” Thorin is taking too much satisfaction from seeing the Dwarf chained by his wrists to the wall, his arms stretched above his head in what is undoubtedly an uncomfortable position. “I was under the impression you demanded an audience with Nori to give your confession. That is why you have been moved here from the outer cells.”

The mention of the cliffside dungeons make Hugin tense and go pale

Still he scoffs and tries to play it off. “This is a farce. Where these accusations have come from, I couldn’t say, but that you are taking them seriously shows a serious lack in judgement.”

“Really? That’s interesting, given that we have numerous witnesses and documents tying you to a plot to kill Bilbo, intimidate Tauriel, and take control of the Council.”

Hugin’s eyes narrow.

“No one person could have come up with framing me for all of that.”

“That would be why I said numerous witnesses, try to keep up, Hugin.” Thorin replies. “Do you deny these accusations?”

“Obviously.”

“Then how do you explain them? And the evidence found against you?”

“It’s jealousy of course! Come on, Thorin,” and the king bristles at Hugin’s assumption of familiarity and lack of manners. “This is all a plot, don’t you see? A way to weaken the Council, and therefore weaken you and the monarchy! Some sort of coup. Frankly I’m astonished you’re all falling for it.”

“I see. And all those years ago, you convincing me to send Bilbo away when it turns out there was no reason to do so, that is all a plot by someone else as well, is it? You were just an innocent mouthpiece working for the greater villain?”

That is enough to pull Hugin up short and he stares at Thorin in surprise. His mouth opens and closes foolishly a few times before he tries to speak. “I assure you, Your Majesty, that was no lie. I- if I recall correctly there were threats of unrest-”

“You had no surveys done and no intelligence collected.” Thorin is working off a guess here but from the widening of Hugin’s eyes he knows he is correct.

The entire thing had really been a lie.

“You wanted Bilbo out of Erebor and you manipulated me to make that happen.” Thorin says. “Once he came back and it became clear to you that I wish for him to stay, you realized you couldn’t convince me again. You came up with another way to-”

He can’t even say it. The words _get rid of him_ die on his tongue, and instead he’s forced to clear his throat and come up with something else. “-to get what you wanted.”

Hugin is quiet for a few moments before finally replying.

“According to the law only citizens of Erebor can accuse me of a crime. Since your Hobbit isn’t a citizen, I don’t think I can be held accountable for anything-”

Thorin cuts him off, tired of his idiotic rambling. “You misunderstand, Hugin. Bilbo isn’t the one accusing you. I am.”

The Dwarf stares at him in disbelief. “You?”

Thorin scoffs. “What do you think all of this _is_?”

“I…” Hugin shakes his head. “This puts your reputation in a dangerous position. To accuse me, a Dwarf lord of Erebor, on behalf of a Hobbit and an Elf is ridiculous. The people will doubt your judgement. After all I’ve done for you and your family, this kingdom and the monarchy, how could you-”

“Done for us?” Thorin repeats incredulously. “Here is what you have done, that I know of. I am sure many of your past actions will never come to light and you will never be held accountable for them, for which I am very, very sorry, but what you have done is more than enough. You have lied to your monarch, you have indebted, threatened, imprisoned and harmed fellow Dwarves, conspired against members and friends of the royal family, worked to destroy relations with the Mirkwood Elves and abused your position on the Council of Erebor. Are those alone not adequate cause for trial, or shall I list the rest?”

Hugin stares at him, and Thorin feels satisfied when he begins to look afraid. “Who are your witnesses?”

“You have no need to know that yet.”

“I have a right to know who has betrayed me.”

Thorin grins in victory. “Betrayal implies loyalty, Hugin. And I do not think you know the meaning of the word. Now confess and let us have this over with.”

“I will not.” Hugin says. “Though you may think me guilty, I know all of my actions were right and proper.”

When none of them deign to reply his expression grows twisted. Desperation loosens his tongue.

“I only want to keep Erebor safe from the taint of outsiders. We were once a strong kingdom, Thorin, do you not remember? We were independent and autonomous, with none of these treaties and kowtowing to other nations. Other races knelt to us! They paid homage to us! We were the power in the east. It took a Dragon to bring us down!” Hugin is breathing heavily, his eyes lit with passion. “And even then we recovered.”

Thorin is shaking his head before he finishes. “You misremember a great deal.”

“I forget nothing! We have flourished since that Hobbit was sent away and now are in a secure enough position in our recovery to think of reclaiming the reputation that was once ours!”

Thorin stares at him in pity. “And remember how long that recovery took, Hugin. Perhaps you don’t remember the days of wandering with nothing but the clothes on our backs, but I do. My father and I led us through that. What you call our independence I call our arrogance, and it is what made the other races turn their backs on us. Elves and Men would not help those who subjugated and made fools of them. We treated them with disrespect, as lesser than, and they paid us back in kind after Smaug came and we had nothing.”

Hugin shakes his head. “Yet you ally with them-”

“Now I do, yes. Because I have seen what happens when we work together as equals and it is far more than anything we can achieve alone. Do you forget whose food we ate the winter after we reclaimed Erebor? Who supplied us with fish from Lake-town, but the Men themselves? Whose grains did we use if not that of the Elves? We can not eat stone and jewels, Hugin, no matter how much you may wish it.”

“But now that we are back on our feet and prospering, growing like never before, can you not see we should be breaking away from the others rather than allowing them to keep power over us-”

“The Elves, Men and Hobbits helped us take back this mountain. They defended it when I was too weak to do so. Do not think I will ever forget that.”

Thorin is graver than he intends but he is not in the mood for these unfeeling arguments. Hugin’s views are greedy, cold and callous ones, and Thorin cannot stand them. Cannot stand the thought that he used to think the same.

“And if I did cut them all out and lock us away in here by ourselves, who would we turn to when the next threat appeared?” He inquires. “The next Dragon, or lord like Sauron who tries to take our lands and riches from us, what allies would come to our aid if I lock our doors and turn them away in times of peace.” He shakes his head. “I have lived that way, Hugin. It does not work.”

“A threat like that is not certain!” Hugin cries. “And unlikely to happen again in our lifetimes.”

“Threats are always certain. Look at you now.”

Hugin looks flummoxed. “I am no threat to Erebor.”

“Yes, you are. Though you may not realize it, you are.” Thorin stares him down. “I will not argue with you, Hugin. I am here for your confession. Even if I do not get it, you will be sentenced, for I have enough evidence to do what I wish.”

Hugin flushes. “I confess only to wanting to make Erebor great again! We do not need outsiders in our kingdom, bringing in their foreign ways. I confess to wanting them gone, and being the only Dwarf with enough strength and will to make that happen.”

Thorin nods to himself. “That is enough.”

“But you will not be the one to judge me, Thorin. I demand a trial. A fair and impartial trial, with unbiased jurors. I know that once they hear my reasons they will find it impossible to convict me.” He looks at them all earnestly. “I am doing the right thing here, though none of you see that yet.”

Nori spits at Hugin’s feet. “You’re mad.”

“I see the truth. I am carrying out the will of Mahal. I'm keeping us safe, Mahal's people safe, and on the right path. When we meet in Mahal’s Hall and you understand His will, then you will agree with me.” He looks at them all. “You are better than the Hobbit, Thorin. Allowing him into Erebor is one thing, but into your bed-”

“Watch yourself,” Nori warns, pushing himself off the wall to stand straight.

“-is unthinkable. It’s abhorrent, don’t you see? You’ve been tricked, just like your nephew, into thinking it’s anything other than unnatural.”

Thorin takes a deep breath and clenches his fists to try and contain himself.

“That’s enough out of you.” Balin says.

“It’s not nearly enough!” Hugin cries. “If I’m to be tried for something, it might as well be for what I truly believe. Others might mollycoddle you and turn a blind eye, but I care about the integrity of this kingdom, and refuse to allow us to be a laughingstock for all of Middle-Earth. The king and his lover are disgusting. The Hobbits and Elves are half brain-dead, they deserve to be treated like our animals more than other cognizant beings-”

And that is too far. Before Thorin realizes what he is doing he is moving forward to punch Hugin square in the jaw, causing the prisoner’s head to snap back and slam into the stone wall behind him. A sharp sound rings out as he collides and Hugin screams.

“Release him,” Thorin seethes, pacing in front of the slumped Dwarf. Blood runs from Hugin’s lip and the sight only makes Thorin angrier. “Release him and make this a fair fight, for I refuse to kill a chained opponent. Even a worthless lump such as he.”

“Enough Thorin.”

“No.” He stops pacing to look back down at Hugin who is staring at him nervously. “A trial by sword would be adequate for you, would it not? You and Sochy keep mentioning the will of Mahal, perhaps we should see who he truly supports in a fight to the death.”

While he speaks he resists the urge to punch him again.

“I mean it,” he looks back at Nori and Balin. “I want him out of here and ready to fight. And then I will kill him.”

“We’re not doing that, Thorin.” Balin says. “Come away from him and think rationally for a moment.”

“I’m finished with wasting time. We’ve wasted far too much.”

“Balin’s right.” Nori speaks calmly, almost soothingly, and Thorin stops to look at him fully. “We’re not risking a trial by sword. Knowing him he would find a way to cheat and get away.”

“And an impartial jury would be less easy to trick than me in a fight, is that it?”

“I’m sure they won’t like to hear about my mistreatment by you, that’s for certain.” Hugin says snidely, voice thick, and Thorin looks back to see blood pouring from his broken nose.

He resists the urge to hit him again.

“Shut up, you. And no.” Nori says patiently to answer his previous question. “But you’re the king, Thorin. Think of what it would mean for the citizens of Erebor to see you defeat one of them so viciously. What would it do to them to see you cut down someone like them with ease? It would damage your reputation.”

Or make it stronger, Thorin wants to say, but he knows what Nori is trying to get at. His people know he can fight, he’s been in enough battles to prove that to them. Now is the time to prove he can lead without allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement. It has been his biggest failing in the past, which is no secret. This is the time to show them he can do better.

But knowing the thoughts that run through Hugin’s head, the views he has about Bilbo and Tauriel, it is hard to find any reason not to just get rid of him now and end all of their problems.

That is the reason however; killing Hugin won’t end the problem. In fact, it will probably make it worse. What will help solve it is a public trial that makes it clear Thorin and the rest of the ruling class in Erebor condemns Hugin’s views. If that means some Dwarves and Dwarrows decide to leave then Thorin is fine with that; they aren’t the sort of people he wants in his kingdom anyway.

“Fine.” He says and he turns to Hugin again. “You will have your trial. You will have your audience. And when you are sentenced to execution or exile you will see me and know that I’m regretting the fact it is not within my power to do worse.”

He opens the door to leave, pausing at the sight of Freya there. “Take him back to the outer cells,” he orders. “He’s to stay there until his trial.”

“Yes, sire.”

He turns to Balin. “Organize the trial. And Balin,” he meets his old friend’s eyes. “Make it soon.”

Balin nods. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” Thorin doesn’t spare Hugin another glance though he hears the choked noises the other Dwarf makes. “Let’s get this over with.”

He leaves shortly after but he doesn’t go far. He turns to the right, with Dwalin and Nori behind him, and makes his way to the other side of the prison, nodding at the black-haired Dwarf on guard who opens the cell door for him.

He stretches his fingers, feeling his knuckles throb a bit from his punch. Still, the pain is worth it, and he relishes the memory of Hugin looking at him aghast.

Sazeed looks only in slightly better shape than Hugin. Though he is chained in the same way, he bears it better, with more strength, and Thorin cannot find it in him to muster the same anger he has for the others.

“Sazeed.”

The Dwarf hadn’t looked up when the door to his cell was opened but he does now at the sound of Thorin’s voice. He watches as the Dwarf’s eyes widen, as something almost hopeful crosses his face before it is replaced by disappointment. Then Sazeed’s expression goes blank, and Thorin waits.

“Your Majesty.” The Dwarf licks his lip. Thorin guesses he’s nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“I wish to speak with you.” Thorin pauses only for a moment. “Regarding the business with Hugin, and the others. But also about your accusations against some of Thranduil’s Elves during the Battle.”

Somehow Sazeed becomes even more unreadable. “I though the matter forgotten, sire.”

“It was, I think, by most. But I had not heard the full extent of it until yesterday, and I am not so ready to let it go.”

Wariness is clear in the lines on his face. Dwalin shifts behind Thorin. “You were not aware?”

“No.”

“How-” Sazeed shakes his head. “How is that possible? You’re the king, I told Lord Dáin…”

“Yes.” Thorin winces, knowing this is the hard part, the admission that makes them all look incompetent. “It seems my cousin was so busy at the time he did not think to tell me the whole story.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Thorin inclines his head. “As would I, if I was in your place. But it is the truth.” He clears his throat. “And though I know it may be too late, and it does not excuse your actions and collaboration with Hugin, I do wish to get to the bottom of it now.” He meets Sazeed’s brown eyes. “Do you still maintain your mother and brother were killed in the Battle of the Five Armies by a pair of Mirkwood Elves?”

He watches Sazeed’s jaw clench beneath his dark beard. “Yes.”

“And you witnessed this?”

He stares at Thorin defiantly. “Yes.”

Thorin nods. It will not be enough for Thranduil, of course, but it is enough for him to believe Sazeed is telling the truth.

“I am sorry,” he offers. “That we did not do more for you at the time.”

“Do more?” Sazeed scoffs. “None of you did a damned thing! I was told to move on and forget it, and to risk my reputation and social standing for telling anyone else the truth.”

Thorin grits his teeth. “I am sorry for that as well. It is shameful on all our parts.”

Sazeed stares at him. “Your shame won’t bring my family back. Or give me justice.”

“No.” He agrees. “And if I was you I would feel the same way. The anger…”

He looks away. There is no lengths he would not go to for his family. Him attacking Azog after the Goblin Tunnels is a prime example of how Thorin’s need for revenge outweighed his wisdom.

“I am sorry this has happened. And I will work with King Thranduil to make this right, and punish those responsible.”

Sazeed spits at the name. “The Elf King? What good will he do. He will protect his own people and turn his back on your call for help, just as he did after Smaug.”

Thorin does not allow himself to show just how worried he is that very thing may come to pass. “His son has already agreed to look into it.”

Surprise flickers across Sazeed’s face but it is quickly replaced with disgust. “They are Elves, Your Majesty. You cannot trust their word. Or their actions. All they do is for themselves.”

“I disagree with you.” Thorin says steadily. “But this brings me to our next subject.” He meets Sazeed’s eyes steadily. “I need you to tell me all you know of Hugin’s plot.”

Sazeed shook his head. “I’m sorry, sire, but you won’t get anything out of me.”

Thorin frowns. “Not even a word in your defense?”

“What defense? I require none.” Sazeed returns. “I do not want other races in Erebor. They will stab us in the back when the temptation grows too great and we will be powerless to stop them. I thought if Hugin could accomplish what he wanted and get the Hobbit and Elf to leave then I could stand to stay here, but it seems that has failed and so I no longer wish to do so.”

Thorin frowns. “To leave? You did not know he tried to kill Bilbo, and threatened Tauriel?”

Sazeed’s eyebrows lift. “I knew of the threats to the Elf. Not about the Hobbit.” He hesitates. “All I’ve done is allow Hugin to visit prisoners and listen in on conversations here in the cells while I was on duty. Some of the letters telling the Elf to leave were from me. But I don’t know of anything else.”

“Hugin has captured fellow Dwarves and held them as leverage to use in blackmail.” Nori says. “Did you know of this?”

“What?” Sazeed jerks to look at him now. “No, that can’t be true. Other Dwarves?”

“It is.” Dwalin says. “We’ve found them only this morning.”

“But… he wouldn’t. He only hates the others. Like I do. The Elves, for what they are, for what they do to Dwarves.” Sazeed shakes his head, suddenly looking far smaller than he had before. “You’re lying. I know your tactics, you’re lying to make me confess. But I’ve already told you all I know about it.”

“We are not lying,” Thorin says. “But thank you for being honest.”

He meets Dwalin and Nori’s looks before turning back to the prisoner.

“Tauriel will not be leaving Erebor, and there will never come a day when I refuse our friends of other races to stay here. You will not have the Dwarf-only kingdom you desire, Sazeed.”

He nods. “I thought so, now that Hugin’s failed.”

“Your crimes are grave,” Thorin continues over him, speaking a bit louder, “but there has been far worse committed by Hugin and his other allies. I believe when you have your trial your sentence will be lighter, considering your… motivation.”

Sazeed looks at him in surprise. “I don’t want a trial.”

Thorin stops from where he had turned to leave. “You don’t?”

“No. What’s the point? You might as well sentence me now.”

Thorin looks at him. “You’re sure?”

Sazeed stares back.

“Very well.” Thorin grants, after glancing at Nori and Dwalin. “Can we convince you to testify against Hugin?”

Sazeed’s features tighten. “No. Though I don’t approve of whatever he’s done against other Dwarves, I can’t fault him for wanting the other races gone.” He took a shuddering breath, head falling as he looks down at the floor for the first time this entire meeting. His voice cracks. “They killed my family.”

He sounds very small, and Thorin shivers a bit at the sight. He knows Sazeed, has trusted him as a guard for years. He is a large Dwarf, a strong Dwarf, and to see him so heavily weighed down by grief and hatred strikes a chord in Thorin.

Perhaps that makes Thorin more merciful than he might have been. He had been about to suggest shaving Sazeed’s head and exiling him, but looking at the Dwarf he finds he cannot bring himself to be quite so cruel.

“Then I exile you.” He says quietly. “Am I right in thinking if you do come in contact with Elves, Men or Hobbits, and you have the ability to walk away rather than hurt them, then you will do so?”

Sazeed nods immediately. “You are. I’d rather have nothing to do with them than their blood on my hands. More bother than it’s worth.” He stops. “Unless they’re the bastards who killed my family.”

Thorin expects that and he cannot find it in him to fault Sazeed for it. “Then I banish you from Erebor. You are exiled forever, and will carry your letter of exile with you. And Sazeed,” he meets those brown eyes again. “Though I suspect the Iron Hills will be open to you, you should know that Dáin’s opinion does not differ so much from mine.”

“No, I won’t go to him.” He sounds a bit upset at the suggestion. “I’ve seen how he treats his subjects when they need him.”

Again, Thorin should say something, but after a moment’s thought he decides it would be for the best if he does not. Sazeed continues speaking.

“I think I’d go west. To the Blue Mountains. There’s less likely to be any bother there.”

“That isn’t so far from the Shire,” Nori notes, but Sazeed looks down and away.

“Them I don’t mind as much. It’s the Elves.”

And well. There is little Thorin can say to that.

“They are not all the same,” he tries half-heartedly, knowing a lost cause when he sees one, “but very well. To the Blue Mountains.”

Sazeed nods. “Thank you, sire.”

For a moment Thorin wants to apologize again, and perhaps he even should. But then he remembers how Sazeed has worked for Hugin all these years, and how he feels about Tauriel, and the apology dies on his tongue.

“Dwalin will release you. You will be gone by nightfall.”

“As you wish.”

Thorin looks at Dwalin. “See that it’s done.”

“I will.”

He leaves then, unwilling to be in the cell any longer, and even though he knows there are other matters to attend to Thorin makes a point of sending Nori and his other guards away.

If there was ever a time when he needed a break to get some space and breathe it is now. It has been a long time since he’s gone to the orchard, and he hopes the open space and silence will help him. Not only is he thrumming with rage and guilt, he also feels queerly close to being overwhelmed. His chest feels tight and his mind was curiously blank.

He needs some time alone to put his thoughts in order and he needs it immediately. His guards wait for him inside the mountain while he walks out and takes a deep breath of the fresh air outside.

It is like a calming wave washing over him. Instantly he feels grounded again and less closed in. His lungs expand and he takes a deep breath, and then another, feeling himself settle in the warm air.

The orchard has been neglected in his absence and after standing still and taking a few deep breaths he feels more centered. He opens his eyes again and sees the patches of weeds and spots of dry soil, and before he can think about it, he’s making his way around to attend to the areas that need it.

By the time he’s finished his hands are dirty and there are small piles of weeds lying beside the flower beds. His task has taken longer than he anticipated, and he feels his stomach growl, reminding him that he skipped lunch.

Bilbo won’t be happy at that. In fact, Thorin hopes the Hobbit hadn’t expected them to eat together like they have been of late.

He spends a few minutes gathering the piles of weeds to place off to the mountainside to die in piles where the eye wouldn’t see unless one was looking for them specifically. Then he takes one last look around, feeling far more at ease than he had when he’d arrived, and makes his way back into Erebor.

He washes the dirt and sweat from his hands, arms and face and changes his trousers. By the time he’s finished his stomach is growling in earnest and he calls for some food to eat in his office as he works and plans.

By the time dinner comes around and he gathers to eat with the rest of the Company, his worries over being missed are forgotten. The others have been too busy all day to ask where he’s been or even notice his absence in the first place. Even Balin and Nori make no inquiry into it, having gotten swept up into looking over the recovered Dwarves, which is the subject that dominates what little conversation they all have.

They are all doing better, and resting under Óin’s care. Tomorrow Thorin will check in on them. Right now the room is crowded with friends and loved ones who are relieved to know they are free and safe.

Bilbo looks unhappy as he sits by Thorin at the dinner table. When he finally pulls out of his thoughts long enough to pay attention, he turns to Thorin and shares his worry.

“He will be punished for what he’s done, won’t he? Hugin I mean.”

And Thorin looks back into Bilbo’s eyes and feels more certain of his words than ever.

“Yes, Bilbo. He will be punished.”

The Company’s mood is somber as they eat but Thorin sees on their faces the same grim determination he feels himself.

Justice will be done. As the king he will make sure of it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe how close to the end we are. I hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am, though I will confess I have mixed feelings on this chapter and the next one. Maybe one day I'll come back and rework some things but for now this is the closure to this subplot.
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful New Year!
> 
> nadad- brother  
> amrâlimê - my love  
> Khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl- horse-riding tree dweller  
> Ghivashel- treasure of all treasures

Hugin’s trial is not even a week later.

The days leading up to it are non-stop for Thorin and the others. All of Hugin’s accomplices and aides are being sentenced. Some by Thorin, some by random Erebor Dwarves, a few by Balin or other members of the Company and Thorin’s family. Often there is more than one hearing a day, and though the total number of condemned Dwarves involved are less than 20, and not all are as guilty as others (guards who had little to no information beyond their orders, Dwarves asked to vote certain ways when making important decisions or to spread rumours and gossip) it is still far too many for Thorin’s taste.

He worries they have missed something, or someone. Though many of the guilty Dwarves have volunteered other names and implicated their former friends and accomplices, it still leaves a bad taste in Thorin’s mouth. There is no way to know for sure that someone has not slipped free. Lord Farlo, who had left the Mountain ages ago, seems to be involved to some degree, or at least has knowledge of Hugin’s plans, but Thorin has no way of holding him accountable now. He is also concerned that it is not an isolated incident.

His sleep is sparse and short. There is always some law to look up to ensure he has grounds to stand on, or a new name that enters his head that has previously gone unnoticed, a newly remembered Dwarf who needs to be questioned. Meals are small, he snacks more than anything, and he feels the beginnings of exhaustion creeping in.

But he is not the only one. This movement has involved everybody, from Gandalf to Glóin to Legolas. They are all working tirelessly.

And it is worth it.

There are many Dwarves questioned but only a handful of them are deemed worth sentencing. Most are innocent, having acted as food suppliers or giving Hugin materials with no knowledge or control over what they were used for. Those who do demand trials or plead guilty, however, are all deemed to be in the wrong. Every single one of them are penalized with jail time or working in the mines. Some are stripped of their wealth and titles or worse. And Thorin is heartened to see that it is not only him and those close to him who demand recompense for these actions, but the everyday Dwarves of Erebor called upon to preside, and the other members of the Council as well. These crimes have been committed against them all, and he is heartened that he was not mistaken in assuming so.

Sochy’s trial is the day before Hugin’s. It is held privately in an audience chamber with the few remaining non-Company Council Members acting as her jury. Thorin and the others are permitted to witness the proceedings and he is not disappointed. She is found guilty by her fellow Councillors, and sentenced to shaving and exile, and though he agrees with the ruling Thorin pushes her punishment back a day.

He wants her there in Hugin’s trial, for many reasons. The audience and witnesses have a right to see her and know who has helped Hugin most, that is true and not an insignificant fact, but also because he thinks it might do Sochy good to see Hugin’s downfall with her own eyes. Perhaps it will be what she needs to see and understand how futile her ways of thinking are and begin to change.

Throughout all of this rumours have crept out and taken over Erebor, and normally Thorin would be upset, but the rumours are working to his favor. From what information those around him have heard and gathered, the general feeling towards the trial today is a wish to have Hugin condemned.

Harshly condemned.

He hopes his friends are correct. Tensions have been high among the Company since this all came to light, and Thorin feels like there is always one of them seeking reassurances for their doubts. This morning it had been Bilbo himself, and Thorin had been helpless to do anything but hold him in him arms in their bed and promise justice would be done.

He is banking on it, on Hugin’s actions being an insult not only to Thorin and those he loves, but to all of Erebor. So far he has not been proven wrong, but Hugin is a different level of threat, he thinks. Perhaps it is better that the news has spread before the trial, so that the shock and suspicions wear off and the true gravity of the crimes can sink in.

Thorin supposes it is impossible to have stopped things from getting out. If the guilty Dwarves were not enough to alert all of Erebor that something is amiss then the recovered Dwarves found in various hideaways of Erebor- all mines and storage rooms owned by Sochy and her family- would be. They have been in the hands of Erebor’s best healers but a few have returned home to their families after being questioned by Dwalin, Nori and other guards. Though Thorin doubts any of them are shouting the news of their experiences in the marketplace, it is inevitable that they will have shared enough to reach the ears of most of Erebor’s populace.

It heartens him to see that his people are horrified at the mere idea of Hugin and Sochy conspiring to lock up and hurt other Dwarves for leverage and power. Dwarven populations are so small compared to most other races already, making their race have a very communal mindset. They often think more of the good of all rather than an individual. It has been ages since the Dwarven kingdoms have fought one another. Though they have a history- with good reason- of being suspicious of outsiders, Dwarves almost always trust and care for one another. It used to be a matter of survival, of ensuring their culture survived in a world of other, faster-reproducing races, but by now it is ingrained into their very way of life. Hugin and Sochy’s actions against members of their own kind are abhorrent.

But it is the response to their actions against Bilbo and the Elves that pleases Thorin most. Deep down he has been worried that perhaps Hugin is not as mad as Thorin would like to believe, and that Erebor’s acceptance of Tauriel and Bilbo have all been figments of his own imagination and hopes.

Now however, as he sees the disgusted and furious faces of the Dwarves who trickle into the trial hall that will be used today, he knows he has judged his people correctly.

The hall is arranged simply. Private balconies ring the walls above the general audience seating and podiums for witnesses and testimonies. One balcony is where Thorin sits as Hugin’s accuser, and another gallery to his left holds Hugin and Sochy, each of them flanked by guards. Across on the opposite wall is a larger balcony for juries. In this case it is the Councillors who will decide the verdict. And finally, there is a fourth terrace where the royal family and their friends sit. Where Thorin would normally be.

Five Dwarves from the Council of Erebor have been deemed impartial enough to sit as the jury, and Thorin sees the way Nash, Darhla, Narla, Vari and Hyng sit with ashen-faces without saying a word.

He looks at where Dís, Fíli, and Kíli are in the Royal Balcony. Around them are the Company, including Bilbo and Gandalf, and Tauriel and Legolas. He meets Bilbo’s eyes, and even though the length of the hall separates them, he thinks he sees the nerves there.

He wishes they were sitting together, but all of them had agreed that wouldn’t be wise. For appearance’s sake during this trial, it is best Thorin stands alone, with only Dwalin and his other guards at his back.

Now however, he is starting to regret that, because he feels the weight of everyone’s stares pinning him down and wishes he didn’t have to bear them alone.

The hall fills quickly and steadily. Thorin has ordered this be public and it was one point on which he could not be moved. Balin had warned against it, in case the crowd turns against him and the mood becomes volatile or combative, but Thorin knows a public trial is necessary. Sochy’s had been private, according to her wishes, but Hugin will be given no such choice. Thorin needs his people here. What he wants to say must be said to the people of Erebor, with enough witnesses that the truth cannot become too twisted by faulty memory and second or third hand accounts.

Anticipation fills the air. Muted murmurs reach him even from where he is, high above the majority of the crowd. He feels his underarms grow damp from nervous sweat and shifts, sniffing inconspicuously to make sure it’s not bad enough to be pungent.

It is not, thank Mahal.

The room is well-lit enough for the Dwarves to see easily but Thorin wonders about Bilbo. Surely the Elves’ eyes can make everything out, but Bilbo is not a Dwarf able to see well in the dark, nor is he an Elf with their keen sense of vision. There are so many chandeliers of candles and torches that Thorin thinks it should be good enough. Bilbo will be able to clearly make out those near him at least, and his eyesight _is_ better than Thorin’s own. It is very likely he will have an easier time of this than Thorin will.

Time ticks by as the benches fill up. Thorin feels the stares of everybody’s eyes on him and he knows that it is unusual for him to be here already rather than entering dramatically to start the proceedings. He also knows that, though it has not been kept a secret, him sitting in the place of the accuser is causing quite the stir. Normally he would not be allowed in until he began the trial.

But he wants to see what the general feeling of the room is before it begins and take stock of what this is going to be. Of what he is dealing with.

Finally the spaces fill and the doors close with a gentle thud that echoes throughout the room. There are more Dwarves outside, latecomers who have missed their chance at a seat, and while Thorin wishes there were space enough for all, he knows that too many bodies can lead to trouble.

He does not anticipate a riot or anything of the kind, but the topic today is so contentious that he must be prepared for every outcome.

The horn is blown and Bombur sits again as the sound rings throughout the room. The voices of everyone in attendance go quiet. Thorin stands and clears his throat as the room falls to a hush.

“Dwarves of Erebor.” He begins, leaning on the balcony to look out at everyone in the hall. He has done his best to look regal, even wearing his crown and his Durin’s cloak, and outfitted with Orcrist on his hip. His hair is freshly washed, braided and beaded, and his beard is trimmed neat.

His fingers clench the stone railing tightly as he speaks as loudly as he can. It is cool to touch.

“You have come to see the trial of Hugin Fuginson.” Thorin announces. “A former member of Erebor’s Council, and a Dwarf lord who has been accused of attempted murder, treason, attempted rebellion from staging a coup, harm against fellow Dwarves, intimidation, blackmail and more.”

He looks over to see the Dwarf in question scowling. Hugin had not been happy when Thorin announced which of the remaining Council Members were to be his jury, which only makes Thorin more confident in his choices. Anything that displeases Hugin is surely to Thorin and the others’ benefit.

“Normally I would pass sentence myself and be done with this, but Hugin’s actions have harmed those I love, and I am here as his accuser. Therefore, I have agreed to a jury of the impartial Dwarves of the Ereborean Council.” He directs his attention towards them. “Councillors. The witnesses and evidence against Hugin are authentic and, in my eyes, damning. You will hear testimonials against him and decide whether he is guilty, and if so, what punishment he deserves. Do you understand what is required of you?”

The five of them nod. They are all so stoic, not one of them even glancing at another, or to the mass that sit below them all. Thorin sees the clench in their jaws and knows that none of them relish this.

“Citizens of Erebor you are here to observe and bear witness. Hugin has called for an impartial trial and his wish has been granted. Whatever sentence decided upon by the Council is final and will not be contested. As witnesses to this you are responsible for behaving respectfully. Outbursts and interferences will not be tolerated. On this there is no discussion.”

Thorin allows a few moments for his declarations to sink in before nodding. “We will present tangible evidence first and then hear witnesses. After which Hugin will be allowed to speak and then myself. Finally, the Council will be allowed to deliberate and pass their sentence.”

With that he stands straight with his hands hanging at his sides. “Begin.”

He steps backwards to sit again in his chair.

* * *

The evidence presented would have been enough, Thorin sees as he surveys the room and the looks on the Councillor’s faces. The message fragments Hugin hasn’t had time or forethought to destroy, which mention his plans with Sochy and the others, the lists of names and amounts paid and owed to him by further Dwarves, that corroborate the accusations of money-lending, proving capacity for blackmail and manipulation. His ties to the disgraced Lord Farlo, who, some months ago, had been forced out of Erebor in shame after a peaceful uprising from his employees, detailed in busines dealings and letters between the two of them.

There are books and manifestos found in his rooms written of the unworthiness and impurity of other races. There are links between Hugin and the Dwarves who have, in the last few days, been found guilty of sending Tauriel threatening messages and drawings.

Yes, the evidence would have been enough. The outrage in the hall is palpable and Thorin struggles to keep his expression impassive.

But when the witnesses are called forward to speak the tension in the room crescendos.

Nori is brought forward first, to testify on behalf of Alto, explaining how a hired assassin had come forward, confessed the scheme to harm Bilbo, and pointed them in Hugin’s direction in the first place.

“His identity has been revealed to the Councillors who have already questioned him before coming here,” Nori finishes, turning to speak to the Dwarves in the audience. “They have accepted his testimony as valid.”

Thorin feels a surge of appreciation for his friend. Nori is the last Dwarf who is comfortable being in the public’s eyes, both for personal and professional reasons. Nori spent his life more comfortable in the shadows and out of the center of attention, it is how he operates, but he had not hesitated a moment before offering himself up to stand in Alto’s place. Which had been just as well, because Thorin doubts Alto would have accepted anyone else speaking on his behalf to the crowds of Erebor.

Nori is an expert actor however, and he charms the crowd in moments with his earnest pleas and trusting face. He has always been the biggest mystery in the Company, the Dwarf least known to the public, but that blank slate works to make him come off all the better now.

“His identity is being safeguarded for obvious purposes but be assured he is no threat to Erebor’s safety. And do not take the word of a faceless Dwarf alone. Listen to the accounts of our other witnesses and decide for yourselves.”

Many of Hugin and Sochy’s captives have volunteered to speak. The first, Avda, has bruises ringing her neck and wrists, which she shows the crowd. Thorin recognizes her, and it is only when she speaks that he realizes he is actually thinking of her mother, Fava, who is a very rich and influential Dwarf in Erebor, and that he has not actually seen Avda before. When he scans the crowd he spots Fava sitting near the front watching her daughter proudly.

“I am speaking on behalf of my family,” Avda says, “who are well known here, though we only arrived months ago. I had only been in Erebor a few weeks before I was taken. Before my family was as well known as they are now.” She speaks solemnly, her red hair tied back, and her beard braided simply in a single plait below her chin. “Though I had begun to establish my trade I had few contacts, and only two close friends. When my absence was asked after, which happened rarely, my parents lied and said I had returned to the Iron Hills and that Erebor did not appeal to me. My family and I are from here originally, and returned to Erebor because it is our home and where we belong. Though not all believed so.

“We had managed to save most of our wealth when Smaug came, and because of that we had been ostracized. We moved to the Iron Hills, parting from our people after Smaug, but returned roughly seven months ago. We had wealth but nothing beyond our own needs to spend it on. Hugin heard of this.” She looks up at where he sits in the balcony. There is fury in her voice. “And though our family was shunned after Smaug, we are well-known now, because of our money. When my parents speak, the Dwarves around them listen. After we returned here Hugin asked them to make it known they were dissatisfied with Master Kíli’s betrothed and, lately, with the amount of influence Master Baggins has with the Company and royal family.

“My parents feel nothing of the sort. They refused, and Hugin took me to pressure them into giving him funds. Ransom money, he called it. I recognize her,” she nods upat Sochy, “because she would order and watch as I was hurt by those who had taken me. Locks of my hair were cut and sent to my parents as proof. It was not Hugin who took and hurt us, at least not in my case, but Sochy and her servants. I only realized Hugin was behind everything when nearly three months ago he came to walk through the sparse room I was kept, looking at me through a slot in my door like I was some sort of rabid animal.

“I was kept there for over half a year. The only interaction I had was with the servants. Some were kind. Most weren’t.”

She turns burning eyes up to the Dwarves on trial. “I lost months of my life to you. Months I will never get back. And I am only one of a few. Perhaps I should be grateful that I still have my life at all, after hearing what you had planned for Master Baggins.”

Thorin’s eyes flit to Bilbo who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He knows that Bilbo has been personally involved in taking care of the recovered Dwarves, and he knows Bilbo has formed attachments to a few. Avda appears to be one of them.

“I was taken to be used as leverage in Hugin’s attempts of influencing politics and public opinion in Erebor. My family was blackmailed and I was tortured with Hugin’s knowledge and tacit permission. My family have been terrorized by him, and we are not alone. His ambition is power, and I dread to think of what Erebor will become if he manages to get it. And Sochy helped allow it.” She finally looks at the Council. “I have been told I cannot plead with you, but I must. Please condemn him. What he has organized and done is monstrous. And though Sochy is not the mastermind behind this, she is just as rotten, if not more. For me to feel safe here in Erebor they cannot remain here.”

With a shaky breath she sits.

The second Dwarf captive, Ira, says more of the same. He initially worked with Hugin but once he grew too uncomfortable with his plans and began voicing his discomfort, he became a threat. Hugin decided to remove him and keep him where he couldn’t interfere. He was kidnapped over a month ago.

“I know what Hugin’s aims are.” Ira says in a thin voice. “He wants to manipulate those around the king so that he can control the Council of Erebor and rule from the shadows. With so many of the Dwarves already under his influence, whether by choice, or due to blackmail and external pressures, he already holds more than his fair share of power. His parents were lost to Smaug, leaving Hugin their wealth and name. His younger brother was killed in Azanulbizar, and Hugin has doubted the line of Durin’s judgement ever since.”

He casts his eyes to Thorin. “Hugin struggled to recover after Smaug and still has not regained the position his family held before the Dragon came. This is due to his own inadequacy and shortcomings, but he blames those around him for taking what he believes is his rightful position. His blame includes the king and our new allies, the Elves and Men, for not aiding and saving us, and the Hobbits for Master Baggins’ influence over our king. Hugin despises the more equality-driven and democratic laws that have come into effect since their acquaintance and believes they are due to Master Baggin’s prompting. Laws that have distributed some funds from the wealthy to the poor here in Erebor, and only made it harder for Hugin to amass the wealth his family had in his youth.”

Thorin swallows.

“He is a sickness within our government and should not be allowed to remain here. His words are poison, and he spreads hatred and pain when he can. He did it with me.” Ira looks at the audience. “Erebor is better than that. And if we wish to have any hope of a prosperous and peaceful future then we must set an example and show our disapproval of this type of behaviour by rejecting it. We must cast him out or kill him to ensure the end of his vindictiveness, for I do not believe he can ever change.”

The pronouncement is left with shocked murmurs that quickly die out when the next witness steps forward.

Several of the kidnapped Dwarves speak. Osha, Alto’s partner, does not. Thorin had visited her once, though it had been brief. She had come out seeming fairly well, all things considered, and it does not entirely surprise him because her very demeanor is wild and fierce. Her dark hair is reminiscent of Beorn’s in a way, due to its unkempt look, and her green eyes challenge anyone to come near.

Thorin had only visited her several days ago because Bilbo had been sitting with her and Thorin had wanted to dine with the Hobbit. When he’d found him with Osha Thorin had only hesitated a moment before going over anyway.

It had been clear, from the few moments he was there, that Osha did not care for him. Or royalty at all. But she did thank him for his efforts in rescuing her, and for listening to Alto and protecting him, which Thorin had only been able to nod at before hurrying Bilbo away.

Osha does not speak now, not wanting to come under public scrutiny, but she did speak with the Council after Alto had this morning, and so Thorin is satisfied with that.

Instead several other Dwarves testify. A few more of the kidnapped Dwarves, almost all with some sign of bruise or cut.

There are a few others who have agreed to testify in return for a reduced sentence- Dwarves involved with sending the letters to Tauriel, one who had told Hugin of the rumours of Alto’s presence in Erebor and what he could be hired for, others who had business with him. Twila’s brother, Twilo, does not speak either, still confined to bed-rest as he is, but his sister does.

Twila looks smaller than ever, though she has been well fed and washed in the past week. Her hands shake in front of her and when she looks up at Hugin and sees his furious expression she freezes in place, looking terrified.

“You may begin.”

She starts to speak but her voice is not nearly loud enough. From where he sits with the rest of the Council Nash leans forward. “Speak up, please.”

Twila clears her throat, and now her voice reaches Thorin. “I’ve been Lord Hugin’s personal assistant for nearly 15 years now.”

Thorin glances over just in time to see Sochy nudging Hugin, turning to hiss something at him furiously, and to see Hugin’s dark face as he replies back to her stiffly before their guards force them to be silent.

It seems that whatever the two of them had expected, Twila turning against them and testifying had not been part of it.

“And in that time,” as she continues to speak her voice gets louder and more confident, and she actually brings her head up to look around at her fellow Dwarves and the members of the Council. “I grew to know him well. Extremely well.

“He doesn’t really see me as a person, I don’t think. I was always just there, in the background, to do what he needed but not be noticed. And he had my brother captive to hang as leverage over my head, so he felt secure in my loyalty. Which meant that he grew comfortable around me. More comfortable than he should have.”

Thorin relishes the way Hugin snarls.

“My brother and I are poor, you see, and not even a month after my parents died Twilo stole a loaf of bread. He was arrested, and I couldn’t afford to pay for his release. Hugin knew of us and paid for Twilo’s freedom but kept him in return for a loan he’d given my parents. He said Twilo’s freedom was his now, and that he could do with him what he wished, but eventually I found out Hugin’s deal with my parents had deemed my brother collateral and that was the real reason he had any interest in us. He took me on as his personal assistant to work off the debt. I wasn’t paid well, only enough to afford a place to stay and enough food to eat.”

She takes a deep breath. “While under his employment I learned the way he operated. The fear he spread to get control, the abuse he would inflict on others, the blackmail. Most of the evidence that has been presented are items I helped the king’s guards gather from Lord Hugin’s own chambers. They detail his illegal dealings and orders, as well as certain letters and instructions he intended to give and send. They clearly show how he planned to take control of the Council and Erebor for himself.”

Thorin leans forward just as she looks up to him. “I was beaten and threatened into silence, and until Lord Hugin tried to have Master Baggins killed I kept that silence, to my shame. I know of many Dwarves he hurt, and I am sorry I didn’t speak of sooner.

She goes on to explain many of Hugin’s dealings with various Dwarves. The names are all ones she has already given Thorin and Balin, but Thorin listens again as Twila recounts Hugin’s actions with nothing but disgust.

“But when he attacked Master Baggins he attacked a close friend of the king, and I realized that was finally my chance. I remember thinking that if Lord Hugin thought he was strong and secure enough to get away with attacking such important people in Erebor then soon it would be too late to stop him. He might have overreached in this case, but he is not stupid. He knows his limits, usually, and to go after beings so close to the king shows just what his position is, and how much power he holds. I remember thinking that I had to explain everything to the king as soon as possible and stop him now because it was my last chance.

“I did that. And I hope what I have done is enough to stop Lord Hugin forever.” She looks down. “I have also seen that Master Baggins and Lady Tauriel are nothing like Hugin led me to believe all these years. They have been nothing but good and kind to me since I’ve known them, and I’ve never heard of either of them hurting a soul here in Erebor. I’m very sorry in the part I played in allowing Hugin’s hatred of them to spread.”

Twila stops speaking as suddenly as she had started, and with one last loaded look between her and her former employer she leaves quietly.

Next come Dunder, and Londo, and a trail of others, but Thorin knows the decision has already been made in the eyes of most of the Dwarves. Dunder gives his account slowly and methodically, as if he is repeating memorized lines, before Londo speaks after him. Hugin actually moves to stand in fury at the sight of the old Dwarf lord, but his guards pull him back to his seat and Londo continues without interruption. Thorin notes he does not mention Sochy at all.

When it is finally time for Thorin himself to speak and give his reasons and closing remarks, he barely feels the need to argue anything, knowing the others have all said everything he wished to.

“Citizens of Erebor,” Thorin begins. “I speak to you now not only as your king, but as a Dwarf of the modern age. Our people have suffered much. We have seen more than our fair share of loss, hatred and violence. Erebor’s Dwarves know what prejudice, hate and arrogance bring, and we are wise enough to recognize when we are in danger of falling into such dangerous attitudes again.

“Hugin Fuginson is an example of all we have worked to save ourselves from, a relic of our past.” He takes a deep breath, hearing the fur trim of his robe skiff along the stone as he shifts to look around and grows more serious. “Though I loved my grandfather, I see his arrogance in Hugin now. That arrogance led to us overstepping our bounds and destroying our ties of friendship with the Men and Elves we call neighbours. It was that arrogance that alerted Smaug to us so long ago, and that isolation which resulted in us facing him alone.

“I have just as much cause as any of you to hold onto old prejudices. My family has more wealth to lose than any other in Erebor, and I too lost loved ones to Smaug’s flames when the Men failed to strike the Dragon down and the Elves refused us aid. I am not ignorant of our history.

“But I also bore witness to the way Men, Elves and Hobbits came to our aid in these more recent years. If it had been Dwarves fighting alone in the Battle of Five Armies we would have been defeated, and Orcs would live in your homes. And if you wish to delude yourself into believing we could have won that war, then I ask you to think of what came after. Those winter months where our food came from the Men and Elves. And thought we were forced to ration I know that none of us went hungry. That is because of the alliances I chose to make with the people who saved us.

“And we cannot forget that it is only because of the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins that my Company and I survived our journey here. We cannot forget that it is because of Bilbo and Tauriel’s actions after the Battle that my nephews and I are alive, and you have your king.

“More than that,” Thorin reaches into his robes to pull out the heavy weight from his chest pocket to hold up for the crowd to see, “it is Bilbo who has found and returned the Arkenstone to us for a second time.”

Shocked murmurs break out in the room as the Arkenstone glints brightly in Thorin’s raised hand. He looks over to see Bilbo sitting frozen amidst their friends.

“Where in the blazes…” He hears Dwalin mutter behind him.

“You may think this is a ploy, but it is not. I had hoped to wait until my younger nephew’s wedding to announce its happy return,” Thorin says to everyone loudly once the din settles. “But it seems that some,” he glares at Hugin and Sochy and replaces the jewel in his pocket, “need the reminder that our allies stand with us, not against us. They continually strengthen Erebor and the happy return of the Arkenstone is merely a symbol of that.

“I have accused Hugin. Not merely because of his actions against our fellow Dwarves, which is despicable enough, but because of his actions against the Men, Hobbits and Elves we ally ourselves with. Perhaps I have been unclear to you all in my changed beliefs since reclaiming our kingdom, but I will no longer be so.”

He surveys the room, taking in the hundreds of faces in front of him, gratified at their continued attention.

“There is no place for discrimination here in Erebor. Our differences from other races does not make us unequal or unable to live alongside them. I have welcomed Men, Elves and Hobbits as our allies, and I welcome a few of them further into my own family and heart. Any actions against them will be treated with the same severity and contempt as actions against any of you.”

His words fall with an irrefutable impact. He sees the ways the Dwarves look from him, to Tauriel, Legolas and Bilbo sitting amongst the Company, to Hugin and Sochy. The transformation from blank uneasiness to supportive nods makes his heart settle. Even Hugin and Sochy look shocked at hearing him condemn their actions so clearly.

“I have accused Hugin because I want it clear that his actions are not what Erebor stands for and completely unacceptable. We have had enough hatred in our lives. Now is the time for peace. It is the time for friendship. Let us not throw that away over a shared history of mistakes. Let us make something new that strengthens us in the face of anything that may come. I cannot remake Erebor alone, and I do not wish to. We all must play a role and do our part to make our kingdom one of forgiveness, one of tolerance and one of peace. Each and every one of us has a responsibility in this, but I know it is possible. When we Dwarves put our minds to something there is nothing that can stop us.

“Hugin is guilty of treason. He is guilty of attempted murder, discrimination, plotting to seize control of Erebor and more items that would take me too long to list but that you have all just heard for yourselves. For those things I want him punished and I want him far from where he can do further harm. We are building a better Erebor. He has no place among us here any longer.”

He meets each and every member of the Council’s gaze. Nash, Darha, Narla, Vari and Hyng stare back at him with set faces.

He bows his head. “I leave you to decide.”

“Hugin, you may speak.” Nash says after a few expectant moments pass.

Hugin looks absolutely furious as he stands to address everybody.

“What you have just heard is a wild concoction of lies and slander. I have never wanted anything but the best for this kingdom and have spent years of my life with that as my only goal. I have loyally served both the king and Council and would never hurt my fellow Dwarves. I am appalled that anybody could deign to suggest such a thing.”

He turns to Thorin. “As for the accusations from the king concerning the Hobbit, it is clear that the Halfling has managed to twist his mind and manipulate him into this farce of a trial. Our king is obviously surrounding himself with untrustworthy… beings, and I do not think I am alone in calling into question whether he is even fit to rule over this kingdom.”

More than one person cries out at those words, and Thorin is gratified by the reactions Hugin’s suggestion produce. If he has done nothing else since reclaiming Erebor, he has managed to prove his worthiness to rule. The position of Erebor is all the proof he needs, with the kingdom having recovered and flourished faster than anybody expected under his leadership. All of the evidence is in Thorin’s favour on that score.

“Silence, everybody!” Nash cries out, face carefully blank but for the force in his tone and clear command he exudes, just like the rest of the Council’s are. “Hugin, if you will.”

Hugin continues on regardless. “I am innocent, and once that is declared by the rest of the Council I do not think it would be unreasonable to call for an investigation into King Thorin and his acquaintances for the insanity we are suffering today. And the influx of foreigners to our kingdom.”

Hyng does not look amused, even while he tries to remain neutral. “You have not addressed the accusations put forward to you concerning Lady Tauriel and Master Baggins.”

And even then, with his entire livelihood on the line, Hugin can’t seem to contain his reaction. His lip curls, his black eyes flick to Tauriel and Bilbo and narrow, while ugliness distorts every feature of his face.

“It’s ridiculous, of course. If I was to try and assassinate the incomers, I certainly wouldn’t be foolish enough to get caught, and I would not stop until the job was done.”

Gasps sound.

“And while I think no one would disagree with me in being displeased at the number of foreign races our king is allowing into our kingdom, I would never be so bold as to try and do them harm. Though their ways have affected our own policy here in Erebor, and they continue to hold far too much influence over our rulers- and the strange habits and customs they bring here begin to spread through our own people, erasing our own history and culture- is this worth them being killed? One might want rid of them, yes, but enough to ruin my own life for it? Surely not.”

He looks around, as if expecting to see nods and agreement, and instead is met with nothing but hard stares and stony silence.

And Thorin sees it, the exact moment Hugin cracks. The moment that he realizes he has not managed to persuade anyone of anything other than the fact that he is a disgusting racist who has been given more power than ever should have been allowed.

“Well, look at them!” Hugin continues, interrupting Nash who had just been about to speak. “Look at them! Their heights alone tell you all you need to know, that they are unnatural and wrong. Those features, the pointed ears, the huge and bare hairy feet, the immortality and too-short lifespans. These creatures are not like us, they are not a part of us, and they certainly have no place in Erebor. Allow them to go back where they came from, if you must, but do not force me to encounter them everyday and confront their horridness. Can you blame me for wanting them gone? To taking pains to remove them from our presence? Everything they are is disgusting! Look at the Elves, who have no feelings, no emotions, and sit there cold as ice! Look at the Hobbit, small and weak and pathetic. Are these the creatures you want surrounding our royalty? Do you trust these brainless beings to make decisions that will affect you and your loved ones? _Have you all lost your wits_?”

Thorin has never felt so much pride or satisfaction as he does in that moment. Because while nobody says anything, the citizens of Erebor all stare back at the panting, red-faced Hugin in cold silence. The weight of it is condemning, it is a clear refusal, a clear show of disapproval, and nothing could have made it clearer that everyone disagrees with him than their lack of support and willingness to engage with him at all.

Not one single soul says a word in his defense. No speech or action that could be misconstrued or twisted as a sign of support for him.

Instead Erebor sits in silence before the raving noble and watches as he exposes himself for their judgement.

“We need a ruler who remembers Erebor’s glory! One who will purify this kingdom, who knows the risk these beings pose to us. We would not invite an Orc or Dragon into our halls, why are these creatures any different? We must have a ruler who sees sense! And if that cannot be left to the Durins’ then one of us must take it upon ourselves!”

Hugin’s chest heaves from his ranting and he looks around wildly. It is only when a flash of betrayal and dawning understanding comes across his face that Nash finally stands up.

“I believe that is all we need to hear. And I believe, unless any of my fellow Councillors disagree, that we have no need to go and discuss our decision. We shall vote immediately, though it seems clear to me what the outcome will be.”

Nash turns face the rest of the Dwarves sitting on his balcony. “Darha.”

“Guilty.”

“Narla?”

“Guilty.”

“Vari.”

“Guilty. Without doubt.”

Nash says nothing, turning to Hyng. “Hyng?”

He nods determinedly, rage in his expression. “Guilty.”

Nash turns to face everyone else once again. “Which leaves me. I concur. I find Lord Hugin, son of Fugin, guilty of all charges, as are any of his accomplices.”

He looks at his fellow Councillors once more and Thorin does not know what passes between them all but he sees them nod. Finally Nash looks to Thorin.

“Now that the verdict has been heard, Your Majesty, I would ask you to name his sentence. Whatever you deem prudent, the Council will agree. Though I will say that we would all be inclined to call for his execution.”

Thorin stands slowly just as Sochy screams in denial and Hugin rushes to the railing of his own balcony.

“No! This is madness, madness, don’t you see? Don’t you understand how they’re manipulating you, that this is their plan? They’re trying to take over! Think of Mahal and what he wants for us, do you think this is it? Dwarves turning against one another, choosing outsiders over our own species? He will not accept you, Erebor will be doomed, and you will be forbidden from ever entering his Hall!”

Thorin speaks over him, his deep voice easily drowning out the mad cries of the other Dwarf before the guards can silence him. “Hugin, son of Fugin, I sentence you to death. You are named an outcast to Erebor and we no longer acknowledge you as a fellow Dwarf. Your hair will be shorn and your possessions seized. You are branded as a Dwarf-traitor. You will be burned rather than entombed with our forefathers, and your ashes will be scattered in an area unmarked.”

“NO!”

He looks past the purple-faced Dwarf to the guards holding him. “Take him away.”

“YOU CANNOT- THIS IS BEYOND CRUEL, THIS IS- LOOK AT HOW BARBARIC HE IS, LOOK AT HIS MALICE, YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY WANT THIS IN YOUR KING, PEOPLE OF EREBOR, OPEN YOUR EYES-”

His voice fades eventually and Thorin is unmoved. His eyes land on Sochy. “You already know your punishment is exile. Your hair will also be shorn and you will leave here with nothing. To perpetuate the hatred and violence you have against those of Erebor is more heartless and cruel than I have words for. You are not welcome here. Go, and pray that you encounter someone with a kinder heart than yours to bestow some pity on you.”

Sochy has been mostly silent throughout everything, and that doesn’t change now. Though she is pale, and obviously terrified (Thorin sees her shaking from where he stands) her lips compress at his words and she nods, quietly getting up and moving to go with her guards.

Both she and Hugin will be gone from this mountain by nightfall.

Thorin turns back to everyone else. “This trial is at an end. The judgement has been given. I thank all of you for your participation for the dignity you have displayed here today. Good day to you all.”

He turns and leaves first, hearing the uproar of scandalized voices as soon as he goes. Dwalin and Lila follow him and he turns to Dwalin immediately.

“They’ve been taken to have their hair shaved. Go and join their group of guards, take them to Freya, and make sure all goes with no fuss. I want Sochy gone as soon as possible after. Allow her only necessities that she can carry on her back. She leaves here with nothing of worth. And Hugin…” He hesitates. “I will watch as he is shaved and it will be me who swings the blade.”

“Right,” Dwalin peels away immediately and before he is out of earshot Thorin can hear him begin to bark orders.

“Come,” he says to the rest. “Let us go to my family.”

* * *

The others are waiting together for him, thankfully, and he walks into the room to find them all in heated discussion that dies immediately at the sight of him. They stand and stare at him, all of him, the entire Company (sans Dwalin), his family, Legolas, and Thorin stands just inside the closed door, unsure of what to say now that he is faced with them.

In the end he doesn’t need to say anything before Bilbo takes several determined steps to close the distance between them and slams into Thorin, wrapping his arms around him and hiding his face in his chest.

Thorin doesn’t wait a moment before responding in kind. He lowers his head so that when he speaks his mouth is by Bilbo’s ear and his voice is quiet, for them alone to hear.

One of them is shaking.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Bilbo’s voice is muffled. “Not at all. But I will be. Thorin, what just happened…”

“I know.”

“The entire room, they said nothing. Nothing in his defense. It’s done. You did it.” Bilbo sounds far too stunned before repeating. “It’s done.”

His arms tighten around Thorin and the king lets his eyes close. “Not quite yet, _amrâlimê_. But soon.”

Gently he pulls away from Bilbo to stand at his full height and look at the others. “You are all alright?”

Nods are his response. Gandalf looks back at him steadily, catching Thorin’s gaze. This is one of the few rare instances that Thorin has seen Gandalf look stunned.

“History has been made here today.”

“Perhaps.” Thorin has not fully taken into account how this might affect anything outside of Erebor’s walls. Will other kingdoms care?

That remains to be seen. Surely other kingdoms will know, especially with Legolas keeping in touch with his father, but at the moment Thorin is too tired to give much thought to that so he moves on.

“They’ve taken them to be shorn. I am to execute Hugin immediately after.”

“You?” Ori asks in surprise.

Thorin bows his head slightly. “The sentence was mine and I am his accuser and also his sovereign. The responsibility falls to me and no one else.”

Ori is young, perhaps too young to understand, but everyone else in the room does. Thorin would be a spineless hypocrite and coward to shun his duty now.

Bilbo slips his hand up to link their pinkies and Thorin squeezes his softly in thanks. Though Bilbo is the most peaceful creature he has ever known even the Hobbit voices no objections, nor does he look upset with the outcome. For all his pacifism, Bilbo is no fool. He knows the way things are and that this is the best course for everyone. No, Bilbo’s worries had been for Thorin’s morals, and their own safety. Perhaps he had nurtured some hope that Hugin could change his ways, as Dunder might, as Alto has; but Hugin proved today that there is no saving him.

“You are free to witness if you wish.” Thorin surveys them. “Though you are by no means obligated to do so.”

Legolas, lips thin and blue eyes blazing, nods first. “I will.”

“As will I.” Tauriel says with steel in her voice.

In the end only Bombur chooses not to.

“Cazi is home with the little ones,” he says. “And threatened to box my ears if I didn’t tell her everything immediately. Besides,” he shifts on his feet. “I have no wish to see more bloodshed in this lifetime.”

Thorin nods. “A respectable choice, old friend. Give your family my regards.”

Bombur nods back gratefully.

“As for the rest of us,” Thorin takes a step towards the door, aching to shed some of his clothing layers but knowing the time for that is a long way off. Truthfully his mind is racing, still trying to process what has just happened while keeping up with what he knows is currently happening several floors below. “We shall go, and after we will be grateful that this ordeal is over. The stage is being readied now.”

“Lead the way, _nadad_.” Dís says.

He shakes his head. “I am going to meet the prisoners with Freya and Dwalin. I wish for some of you to join me.” He looks at Legolas and Tauriel and his family. He does not let go of Bilbo’s hand. “The rest of you must go and wait with the Council.”

No one argues with him.

He leaves, Bilbo at his side, and they walk in a solemn troop until they split up. Half to go to the execution stage, the rest of them heading down to the cells. The Dwarves they pass on the way stop and stare, many of them with wide eyes. Whispers follow them and Thorin does not balk and he does not stop. He does not so much as glance at any of them.

This execution is not a triumph, not for him. It is the only way he can think to fix five years of failure and stop the further spread of Hugin’s ideas in their home. He has failed his kingdom by allowing this to go on so blatantly. The amount of witnesses and evidence brought forth truly proved to Thorin just how widespread this was, and backed up Sochy’s claims from the day Thorin first spoke with her. She and Hugin were not alone, and though Thorin is not ready to order mass executions or exiles, there are several cells that will now be full for many years to come after today.

What must the other rulers think, he wonders. News must have spread to Dale by now, what does Bard think of this? Is he shocked? Or does this only support everything the Man has suspected of Dwarves since Thorin refused to pay the people of Lake-Town their promised gold when he was in the throes of his gold sickness?

What of Thranduil? The king had replied to Legolas and Thorin’s joint letter in a way that had baffled Thorin and made Legolas’ brows furrow. The Elf-King had almost seemed to gloss over the accusation, noting in a single throwaway line that he was looking into the accusation before asking a few questions after Legolas and how he was finding his accommodations and time here.

It had been a rare moment of kinship between the Elf and Thorin when Legolas had shown it to him, and they’d both been at a loss to try and guess what Thranduil was thinking or feeling about any of it. Though Thorin hadn’t seen Legolas’ reply, he is sure that the Elf detailed the whole business with Hugin and the other Dwarves in his letter, and he and his father were surely not so private about their thoughts on _that_ to one another.

Whatever Bard and Thranduil’s responses, Thorin is not allowing himself to think of them too much. He is still struggling to comprehend the response of his own kingdom, as touching and gratifying as it has been so far. He feels like he and Bilbo have spent the past few days on tenterhooks, anxiously awaiting any new development, and now that the verdict has come down in their favour he can scarcely believe it.

It feels like a dream. And though Thorin knows he should not read too much into it, that the two situations are not exactly the same, he cannot help but think that this is what he needs to be sure of the Mountain’s approval of his relationship with Bilbo. The Dwarves will support not only Kíli and Tauriel, but the two of them as well.

Though Thorin has hoped for such a thing, and though he had long ago decided to disregard any disapproval if it had been the case, he is still having to readjust his conceptions from the past five years about his people and their views on other races.

It is not a bad thing. Thorin is just finding it too good to be true. Indeed, if he did not have an imminent execution or the jailing and exile of many of his oldest acquaintances and Dwarf Lords and Ladies, today would have been a triumph.

He is cleaning house, as Gandalf had said to him yesterday during a conversation between them, and though such a thing is necessary and something he thought he had done five years ago in the reclamation of Erebor, it does not make it enjoyable.

They walk in silence and reach the cell quickly. The room is large but their group is as well, and though they fit along with the guards and prisoners, Thorin and his group are forced to stand close together along a wall

Sochy blanches at the sight of them. She and Hugin are chained at the wrists and ankles and seated on two simple wooden chairs beside a small cabinet holding scissors, razors and other tools in the otherwise empty room. They are not looking at one another.

“Surely they do not need to be present for this?”

Freya stands behind her and holds a pair of long scissors. Sochy flinches as she moves them a fraction closer to her. “ _They_ may do as they like.”

Hugin is staring at them all stonily, rage and absolute loathing burning in his face. Thorin holds his gaze, not allowing his attention to waver to anybody else, and feels grim satisfaction at the sweat on the other Dwarf’s brow.

“We are owed more dignity than this.” Hugin says to him, sounding far calmer than he had in the trial room.

“You are owed nothing.” Thorin replies quietly. “And gave up any right to dignity the moment you tricked me into making Bilbo leave years ago. The moment you allowed your prejudices to get the better of you.”

“Prejudices-”

“Enough you.” Dwalin shakes him roughly from where he stands behind him, scissors in hand. “And stop talking. Unless you’d like to speed up your execution and have my blade slip and cut your throat now.”

Bilbo shifts quietly beside him and Thorin does not allow his true emotions to show on his face. He had known this would not be enjoyable, as much as he hates and detests Hugin and Sochy, and though this humiliation is a part of their punishment, it is not one Thorin is entirely comfortable with, despite it being his own idea.

He does wish to be here. But not because he derives any happiness from this.

“Begin,” he says to both Freya and Dwalin, and, with grim faces and steady hands, they do.

Sochy begins to cry silently before Freya’s scissors make the first snip, cutting most of the inches from her beard. That is the process. Shorten the beard to a length that is easier to shave, trim it down, and then run the razor over it to be rid of the final evidence it was ever there at all. Then do the same with the rest of the head’s hair.

Hugin does not cry but he keeps talking throughout, even as Dwalin cuts away around him.

“Thorin see sense,” his words grow more hurried and desperate the longer Thorin stands staring at him unresponsively. “Have we made mistakes? Perhaps. The trial has proven we are not supported in our actions throughout Erebor as we believed. But to exile Sochy? To kill me? Where is our opportunity for redemption, our second chance? You were given one, were you not? After your hostility towards the outsiders, after your gold sickness, you were forgiven and given time and freedom. Where is ours? Why are we held to different standards?”

“You are not.” Bilbo answers before Thorin can, finally forcing Sochy and Hugin to look at him. “You have been given your chances, Hugin, many of them. After Smaug when all you know came crashing down around you and your life changed. After Azanulbizar. After the Battle of Five Armies when Tauriel, Legolas and I helped you all. When our people helped you, when I tried to work with you after the Battle, did you even try to get to know any of us? Did you give us a chance before deciding we were your enemy too?”

His face darkens. “A chance?” He jerks his head towards Tauriel and Legolas, making Dwalin curse and yank the scissors away quickly to avoid bloodshed. “Their king turned his back on us when we needed him most! That _khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl_ rode away from our screams and rejected our pleas for aid.” He glances at Thorin briefly, eyes burning. “Though our king seems to have forgotten that, I have not. I remember staring up at that ledge and watching them leave. Remember the look on his face as he watched our people dying and chose to go home and do nothing.”

“Then you should also remember the years and years of insults your people paid to mine before Smaug came to tear you down from your arrogance.” Legolas interjects, and though Thorin tenses he does not object.

Though he does not like to admit it he does remember the way Grandfather had treated the Men and Elves before Smaug, but particularly the Elves. Their rivalry and mutual animosity had been well-established before Thrór’s rule, but he had certainly only worsened it. And yes he remembers calling out to Thranduil for aid and watching the Elf turn on his Elk and leave with his army, an army that could have saved the lives of so many of Thorin’s people, an army that could have saved his home. He will never forget that.

But he cannot blame all of the Elves for Thranduil’s actions. He has learned, through Tauriel and the others, that not all Elves are the same.

“ _You do not speak to me_!” Hugin spits in Legolas’ direction. “Not you, whose blood is dirty, and descended from filth and-”

“Would you like your death to come all the sooner, Dwarf?” Legolas snarls, pushing forward only for Kíli and Fíli to hold him back.

“Legolas, don’t.” Kíli warns.

“Enough.” Thorin stares at the prisoner relentlessly as more chunks of the wretch’s hair fall to the floor. “You know your words are in vain, Hugin, that you will be dead within the hour. Your sentiments have no impact. Not anymore. You can no longer make a difference in this world.”

That makes him fall silent.

“Thank Yavanna for that,” Dís mutters.

Dwalin and Freya continue to cut away. Clear tear tracks streak down Sochy’s face onto her newly shaved cheeks and chin.

It does not take long to finish up after that, for which Thorin is grateful, for he doesn’t think any of them could stomach more. When both Dwarves sit bare faced and bald before him he allows himself only a moment to take in the sight.

Sochy’s lower lip is trembling. Hugin is glaring at them all but no longer daring to say a word.

Thorin looks at the guards on one wall. “Take her to the gates. She is to leave with nothing but a pony.”

“Please.” The word is strangled and desperate. “Please, I’m sorry, I am, I won’t- I’ll be better, please, is this not punishment enough? Don’t make me go-”

Thorin swallows painfully. “Now.”

She falls limp in the guards’ hold and they have no choice but to drag her along. All the while she continues her quiet cries and laments. “You don’t know what he told me, the things he said about them…”

As they leave her voice fades and then it is silent. Everyone looks to Thorin.

“We will not waste anymore time. Come.”

They lead the procession through Erebor to the execution stage. It is near the lower throne room and the market, in an open space that generally goes disused, nearly forgotten in Erebor. Though it is out of the way, not a place one ventures unless for that specific purpose, it is able to hold quite a crowd.

And what a crowd there is. Not only are the rest of the Company and Council there, but other Dwarves of Erebor who have come to see justice be done. He recognizes many of the newly freed Dwarves who have only recently been allowed from the infirmary. There is Twila, standing near the front, and Dunder and Londo with his two guards, and then Thorin looks away.

There are no excited faces or smiles. In fact the stifling silence from the trial room has carried over here, and though nobody speaks louder than a murmur it is clear the crowd is unified in silent support for what must be done.

Thorin and his companions cut a line through the onlookers easily, they step out of the way for him to make his way to the stone stage itself. On it there is an empty hanging noose and a chopping block. Thorin has not had cause to come here since his return to Erebor and when he glances down he sees Bilbo taking in the set up with stony determination.

“Are you alright, _ghivashel_?”

“Let’s get this over with.” Bilbo replies just as quietly, keeping the conversation between them, meeting his eyes quickly before looking back at the empty stage.

Thorin leads them to the Council and the rest of the Company who are already gathered and waiting at the stage edge in front of everyone else. There is no sympathy in their expression, nor regret. Rather they look at them calmly. Thorin stops by Nash.

“Sire.” He dips his head to Thorin but does not look away from Hugin. Hatred comes from him in waves. “Will it be you who swings the blade?”

“Yes.” He palms Orcrist, watching as Dwalin and Freya lead Hugin past them. His hands have broken out into cold sweat and he inconspicuously tries to hide it.

“Nash, my friend, please, this is madness. Darha, sweetness, you know I would never- Hyng, old soul! Do not allow me to be murdered for all to see-”

Hyng spits at Hugin’s feet and cuts off his rambling pleas. “You will find no sympathy from me.”

With every step Hugin seems to lose grip of whatever delusion he has allowed himself, for his expression goes from calmly expectant, almost unbothered, to twisted and panicked.

“You must see,” he pleads to everyone now as he is forced to climb the few steps up to the stage top. Thorin moves to follow the three of them. “You must see that I am right. We cannot survive this way. Our race will die and Erebor will crumble. This is a plot, one that will lead to our destruction!”

“You wish us to remain stuck in the past, Hugin.” Balin intones seriously, loud enough for those nearest to hear while Hugin is unchained. “Thorin is trying to help Erebor live in the present.”

“You throw away our own people’s futures for theirs,” Hugin shakes his head. “You’re all traitors to your own kind.”

Thorin ignores him. “Kneel.”

“I will be a martyr- though you cannot see it now you will soon! I know what is to befall us should Erebor continue on this path. Doom! Our ruin! Please, I am trying to save you all!”

The watching Dwarves do not say a word.

Thorin catches Dwalin’s eye and jerks his head. Dwalin takes the silent order and comes over to push him down to his knees beside the beheading block. Thorin does not wish to use it, for a block may impede his swing.

He unsheathes Orcrist. Silence presses down on them all, broken only by Hugin near hyperventilation.

“Do you have anything else to say?” He asks gravely, finally, waiting with bated breath to hear through Hugin’s panicked breathing.

“Please,” Hugin whimpers, head down as he stares at the stone beneath them. His bare head is stark against the dark of it. “Please, I deserve exile at least. My rank and station demand it, it is what I am owed-”

“You are owed nothing,” Thorin replies sagely, repeating his earlier words, and then brings Orcrist up before swinging it down forcefully.

It is very quiet after that.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter I'm a little iffy about, pacing wise, but I'm not sure what I can do to fix that. If I think of any edits I want to make I'll just come back and do them I suppose. 
> 
> I want to say thank you for everyone's unbelievable comments on the last chapter. There were so many kind words and I just... you are all the absolute best. Thank you so much. <3 Sending endless love to you all.
> 
> Irak’Adad- Uncle  
> Kurdel- heart of all hearts  
> Ghivashel- treasure of all treasures

Londo and Sochy leave together that day, from what he is told later, and though Thorin cannot say whether they will stay together, he is able to shake off any last lingers of sadness or guilt at the knowledge neither of them will be alone.

He does not go to watch them leave. He does not know who does, though Dwalin will check the gates once they finish here. He is the one who will receive the report from the guards.

No, Thorin is done for the time being. He will not do anymore work, nor take any audiences today, that is certain. He stares down at Hugin’s still body and for a moment he feels disconnected from himself.

He is no stranger to killing. Even ordered killing, such as this, is not new. But there is a feeling hanging over him, it has been since this entire ordeal began, and suddenly he feels unclean.

His lungs expand and he takes one deep breath and then another, clearing his head. Blood has sprayed slightly and it warms his hands, dripping from his pale skin to the mess below.

For a moment he feels regret for whoever is called upon to clear the body which is no longer twitching and now lies still. Someone will have to pick up the head, which has rolled several paces away.

He does not know where Hugin will be taken to be burned. There will certainly be no pyre built for him.

He swallows. “It is done.”

Dwalin comes a bit closer from where he’s been standing a few steps away. “Aye.”

The crowd has already begun to leave, and when Thorin looks up he is surprised to see empty patches in the space that had been packed only heartbeats before.

But he cannot blame them. There is no joy to be had here. Nothing to linger over. Justice has been done, a rotten life extinguished, and now it is time for everybody to continue with their own lives.

“The trial is at an end and justice has been done.” He announces, voice steady even as his heart hammers. “Feel free to go about your business.”

It is not a mass exodus, no rush of bodies to leave, but a steady stream of them. Even the Company does not wait; Thorin sees Legolas’ blonde head departing swiftly alongside Gandalf, and Glóin follows them with his brother.

He looks back down.

The blood is beginning to dry on his hands.

“Thorin.” Dwalin grips the crook of his elbow, forcing him to look from Hugin to his old friend instead. He is grateful for it. “Go. There is nothing else for you to do here.”

He nods but does not move. “Who- what happens now?”

He knows, or at least he did, earlier. This is not the first execution in Erebor’s history, nor the first Thorin has ever presided over. The years following Smaug were full of terrible and shameful actions and Thorin is used to suffering difficult situations.

It is just that right now he is finding it hard to think.

Dwalin’s face goes grim. He sees what is happening to Thorin, or at least enough, and though he doesn’t show alarm he isn’t as unphased as he is trying to put across. Thorin can see that.

“Nori and I will handle it.”

“No,” Thorin frowns. That is not their job. They should not be made to clean up this mess. “Surely someone else- a servant-”

But Dwalin shakes his head and speaks to him gently. “This is what we do, Thorin.”

And the king does not understand but he is too numb to ask.

“Go. Clean yourself off.”

In his periphery he sees that Dwalin is looking at someone else and gesturing with his head but Thorin is too busy staring at Hugin’s body to pay more attention than that. “Perhaps I should stay.”

“Thorin.”

The voice makes him turn and he sees Bilbo has appeared at his side, face worried, though the Hobbit is trying to hide it.

“Bilbo.” He takes in the sight of the Halfling desperately. Still in his green doublet and brown trousers, Bilbo is sight for sore eyes for Thorin.

“Let’s go,” Bilbo goes to take his hand to pull him away but Thorin pulls back, not wanting to get any blood on him.

Orcrist is still dangling towards the floor in his hand and dripping droplets onto the stone.

“I need air.” He meets Bilbo’s eyes. “Take me to-”

“What you need is a bath,” Bilbo rebuts confidently, and all thoughts of the orchard slip away as that more tantalizing suggestion replaces it. “Come on, Thorin. You need to wash.”

He blinks and then nods. “Yes. You’re right.”

This time he follows Bilbo willingly, but when he passes his family Kíli stops him with a light touch to his arm.

“ _Irak’Adad_?”

He looks at the boys, at his sister and Tauriel, all waiting and watching him anxiously.

His smile is small and only slightly forced as he comes back to himself bit by bit.

“I am alright. A bit dirty.” He wrinkles his nose and gestures to his hands. “And tired. Very tired.”

“You’ve been up nearly three days straight dealing with this mess, of course you’re tired.” Dís supplies knowingly.

“Yes well.” He looks away, towards the exit. “I am off to fix that now.”

“Thorin,” Fíli speaks softly, his eyes wide and earnest. “Is there anything I can do?”

Thorin blinks, his mind working more and more with each passing moment.

“Yes, in fact. Speak with the Council Members. Gauge their state of mind and ask if they think anything more should be done. And decide where Hugin’s ashes are to be spread. Do not tell me where,” he holds up a hand when Fíli goes to speak. “I have no wish to know.” He looks between his family, except Bilbo. Three Dwarves and an Elf look back at him. “Work together if you wish, it does not matter to me.”

Tauriel offers him a reassuring smile and he hopes his face conveys his appreciation. Truthfully his exhaustion is catching up to him.

Hopefully today marks an end of his worries. No more assassins, no more coups, no more rampant hatred around him. Perhaps now he can finally relax without worrying who else is about to come bursting through his door.

“We will speak later.” He bids them farewell and they allow him to go. His weariness must really be plain to see.

Hopefully it will not be so for much longer.

* * *

He does not know how but by the time they get to Thorin’s chambers the bathtub in his privy room is already full with steaming water. It is a large tub that takes up an entire corner of the large room. It could hold more than several Dwarves, though it never has in Thorin’s knowledge, and is deep enough that he can sit on a low ledge ringing the edge, acting as a bench of sorts, and the water will still come to his neck. The tub is made of stone, and ringed and encrusted with pearl, multi-coloured shell and opal. The room is full of glowing crystals of soft golds, pinks and blues, and the roof has veins and pockets of white gems that shine softly down on them.

There are a few candles lit, and they along with the shining gems provide just enough light to see. Usually the torches along the wall would be alight as well and Thorin wonders which of his wonderful servants had the correct inclination that he would not want that today. Caan, probably.

No, Thorin does not need bright light. By now it is nearing lunch hour, but he doesn’t care. He’s close to sleep and would rather relax in hazy shadows than be forced to stay awake by burning flame.

He has no thought for his modesty. With a clatter Orcrist falls from his hand to the stone floor of the room, and he sheds his cloak quickly so that it follows suit. He struggles with his overshirt however, after pulling it from the waistband of his trousers, and Bilbo makes a small noise before coming forward to help him.

“Let me.”

He guides Thorin to sit on the edge of the tub so they are of more equal height and the Dwarf just watches as Bilbo works on helping him. The Hobbit does not look up at him, rather he stares determinedly at Thorin’s chest, and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth ever so slightly as he concentrates. His hands work deftly and within moments Thorin is shrugging the dark blue garment off. His undershirt quickly follows.

With only a moment’s questioning glance Bilbo then drops to undo the clasps of Thorin’s boots.

“Silly cumbersome things,” he mutters under his breath loud enough for Thorin to hear, and that actually makes the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.

“My apologies for inconveniencing you,” he replies quietly, causing Bilbo to glance up at him.

“Well as long as you acknowledge it,” he huffs, but there is a quiet amusement in his expression as well, along with some measure of relief.

Finally the boots come off, as do Thorin’s socks. As Bilbo is placing them off and to the side of the room Thorin quickly undoes the ties of his trousers, dropping them where he stands, slides off his underthings and steps into the tub before the Hobbit turns back around.

Perhaps Bilbo had lingered unnecessarily long, but Thorin is only grateful for it. He has no wish for false displays of modesty, not when he is in no mood for it, especially when Bilbo has seen it all before; and if feigning ignorance is what Bilbo needs to feel comfortable then he is more than happy to allow him it.

It is only later that Thorin realizes Bilbo had been facing the mirror the entire time and had likely seen everything Thorin has to show in it without the Dwarf realizing at the time.

As it is, he focuses more on the feeling of the scalding water against his skin and lets out a sigh. When he finally opens his eyes moments later he sees the first sign of discomfort on Bilbo’s face that he has seen all day.

Thorin cocks his head slightly. “Will you join me?”

Bilbo hesitates, but Thorin sees the longing look he gives the bath. “Thorin…”

“It is nothing we have not done before.” Thorin reminds him and Bilbo crosses his arms and glares. “And will remain entirely innocent, of course.”

Unlike the last time they had bathed together. Or the time before that.

Bilbo sighs tiredly but he is picking at his dark clothing. “Thorin…”

“Come, my _kurdel_.” The endearment rolls off his tongue easily. “You need it as much as I.”

“Oh, alright then.” Bilbo looks at him in warning, though the Khuzdûl has worked as Thorin knew it would. Bilbo still has a soft spot for it, particularly when it’s coming from Thorin and addressed to him. “No staring.”

“No promises.” Thorin says but there is no intent behind the words. Instead he moves back to sit on the bench in the water that circles the entire tub, and with a happy sigh he leans his head back to rest against the stone edge and stares at the gems above, mind wandering.

The pattern is a random one he thinks. Though his grandfather had specifically asked for it, planning out where each gem and vein would go, the white lines and twinkling gems bear no resemblance to anything Thorin has ever seen. They are certainly not meant to be the stars and constellations, as he would have recognized those at least.

The water laps at his chest gently when Bilbo finally slips into the water beside him, splashing quietly, and warming Thorin even more. There is an arms length between them at least, but Thorin does not dwell on that.

Instead he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“What happened?” Bilbo asks him eventually in a soft, concerned voice. Thorin lolls his head to look at him, seeing the way his brows furrow. “To you earlier, after the execution.”

Thorin knows what he is asking.

“I do not know.” He moves his hands beneath the water, looking down at the now clean skin. “I suppose I was overwhelmed, a little bit.”

Bilbo shifts close ever so slightly. “And now?”

“Now I am better.” Neither of them look away from the other. “I have spent the past week worrying and organizing, while still juggling all of my regular duties and preparations for this wedding. Which you well know, as you have been by my side nearly every moment and know of every decision I have had to make.

“And now it is done. Over with, just like that, as quickly as a life is ended. And though I despise Hugin more than anyone else, though I wished him dead with all my heart, I did not enjoy today. Though by all accounts it should be a victory it does not feel like one.” He sighs. “I suppose I do not believe things are over with just like that.”

“What things?”

“I cannot say, exactly. I worry more Dwarves share Hugin and Sochy’s beliefs than those who we found. I worry Dunder will cause trouble in the mines for Bofur. And that I have inflicted Sochy and Londo on some poor other unknowing beings who may be hurt by them in the future.”

“Oh Thorin.” Bilbo moves forward some more until their shoulders nearly brush. “You cannot carry the weight of those things. They are uncertain and, in all likelihood, untrue.” He reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb along the space between Thorin’s eyebrows. “You are a king with a kingdom’s worth of worries. Do not add more unnecessarily.”

“You are right. I know you are right,” he smiles thankfully but looks up at the ceiling again. “And after I sleep I am sure I will be able to better compartmentalize once more.”

Bilbo is quiet a moment. “Then we must hurry so that you can rest.”

But that had not been Thorin’s aim at all. He slips his eyes shut and tries to loosen his body further.

“No. This is nice too. And I need to relax and allow my muscles to be soothed along with my brain. I will never sleep with my mind whirring so quickly.”

“Hmm.” Bilbo’s pondering makes Thorin crack one eye back open. “Alright then.”

Thorin sits up again slightly with a sigh, reaching up to his own head to work at his hair. “I suppose I should take this opportunity to wash properly.”

Bilbo watches him undo the first braid avidly before looking away and clearing his throat. There is a flush crawling down his face to his chest he thinks, as Thorin cannot see much through the water. It could be caused by the heat but somehow he doesn’t think so. “I could help with that. If you like.”

Thorin halts for a heartbeat. The significance of this is not lost on him, nor, he knows, on Bilbo. The Hobbit knows full well how Dwarves regard their hair and braids, and what the act of braiding and unbraiding another’s hair means to them.

But only for a heartbeat.

“Thank you.”

Bilbo’s hands flutter madly in the air before he freezes them. “Turn around then.”

The command is gentle and, perhaps this is only Thorin’s wishful imagination, loving as well. But he follows it and soon Bilbo is softly pulling at the end of Thorin’s King Braid, undoing the clasp and disentangling its parts.

Thorin’s eyes slip closed as Bilbo works. The gentle pressure on his head in soothing, and the movement of his hair slowly being loosened and fanned out is calming. Bilbo’s fingers occasionally brush his skin, and if he had more energy it would be arousing, but now it is exactly what he needs to release the last vestiges of tension he has.

He knows when Bilbo has finished, and so he knows that when Bilbo’s hands linger in his hair, gently combing through the strands and parting them in ways that are to his design, it is unnecessary. Welcome but unnecessary.

For a brief time Bilbo sinks his fingers into Thorin’s hair in earnest, pressing the pads of them to his scalp and massaging gently, but the second a groan escapes Thorin the Hobbit freezes and pulls his hands back.

For the best, really. Perhaps Thorin is not as exhausted as he had believed.

“There you are.”

Does Bilbo’s voice sound a bit higher and thinner than usual? Perhaps. Thorin does not allow himself to dwell on it, and instead moves to put a bit of distance between them.

“Thank you.”

In fact he moves into the center of the tub, facing away from Bilbo with his eyes closed, and then submerges himself fully under the water. He counts several beats, feeling the mass of his hair begin to rise around him, before turning and coming up to take a breath again.

Bilbo is staring at him, mouth slightly parted and eyes dark, and it takes Thorin a moment to realize Bilbo is staring at his exposed chest and stomach more than anything.

Before either of them do anything they will regret Thorin sinks down again and moves to resume his former place.

“There. Much better.”

Bilbo’s cheeks are red and he is avoiding Thorin’s eyes. “A good idea really.”

And before Thorin can say or do anything in reply Bilbo is moving to dunk his own head under the water, thus hiding himself from scrutiny.

Unfortunately the tub is built for Dwarves and so when Bilbo reappears Thorin’s view is far more limited than Bilbo’s had been. Still he looks his fill, and is gratified with kindled hope when Bilbo allows it.

Bilbo sits beside him again. Closer than before.

It is only because of this and because Thorin is staring at Bilbo’s neck already that he notices the length Bilbo’s hair has grown to. The water lengthens it, of course, but Thorin is shocked he has not realized before.

“Have you had a haircut since arriving here?”

Bilbo crosses his arms. “You know damn well I haven’t, given that you and the Company seem to make a habit of hiding any pair of scissors nearby when I’m around.”

And well, that is true, Thorin must admit. It had taken them quite a while on their quest to come to terms with the fact that Bilbo cuts his hair, and being in Erebor only made them worse instead of better.

“Yes.” He has no words in his defense. “Do you know, then, that your hair is long enough to hold a braid in it now?”

Bilbo touches the side of his head self-consciously. “Is it really?”

“Yes.” Thorin must clench his fingers to stop from reaching out to do the same.

Bilbo watches him closely for a bit before his mouth ticks up into a fond smile. “Well alright fine, go on then.”

Thorin blinks.

“I know you’re dying to.” Bilbo rolls his eyes. “Go on, braid some. Nothing embarrassing mind you, and nothing I wouldn’t want seen by others when we inevitably forget to take it out and I go wandering around for all of Erebor to see.”

“Of course not.” Thorin shifts closer to him, voice low and serious. “You’re sure?”

Hazel eyes meet blue and there is something there, in Bilbo’s, something that lets Thorin know he is not so cavalier about all of this as he is trying to appear. That works well, for Thorin is a mess of emotions inside as well.

“Yes. You’d best hurry before I change my mind.”

And perhaps Thorin goes a little over the top.

At first he just runs his fingers through Bilbo’s wet hair, to work out any tangles and knots. Though his hair is so fine, especially compared to that of a Dwarf’s, that what Thorin does find poses no problem. He spares a moment to lament for his lack of comb and hair oil, but the regret is quickly replaced with appreciation and care.

First he does a Braid of Valour. The meaning should be clear and obvious to anyone if Bilbo turns out to be right and he is seen by anyone outside of this room with the braids still in his hair. Bilbo was a part of Thorin’s quest and member of the Company. He faced a Dragon and fought in the Battle and has withstood everything thrown at him in the past week alone. His valour is not only acknowledged, it is obvious.

He hesitates a moment before making a Braid of Nobility. Though Bilbo may not be a noble in the Shire as Dwarves are in their kingdoms, to the best of Thorin’s understanding he is well off and respected for his lineage. That essentially comes down to the same thing, Thorin thinks, and besides, it’s not as if the title of noble makes a damn in who a being is and what they are capable of. He learned that from the quest to reclaim Erebor, though his sister may still be struggling to come to grips with it.

Finally, and this is the one he debates the longest, he gives in and does a Courting Braid. It is more hidden, tucked around the side of Bilbo’s head under some of his other hair, but Thorin does it all the same. Anyone who knew it was there would be able to see the beginning of it, and recognize the plait for what it is.

He uses his own discarded hair beads to clip and tie each of them. Though he and Bilbo have murmured things between them on and off throughout the process, they have been quiet for several minutes now, and so Thorin breaks the silence when he announces, “there.”

Bilbo touches the start of each braid and feels the beads at the ends. “Thank you.”

He does not ask for the meanings and Thorin does not offer them.

Instead he shifts and their eyes meet.

“Bed?” Bilbo suggests what Thorin is thinking and he nods gratefully.

“Absolutely.”

They rise easily, unabashedly, and Thorin only sees now that two towels have been laid out for use.

His servants deserve a raise, honestly. He will have to remember that.

His bed is warm and soft underneath him, and, giving in to the temptation he has resisted since that first night over a week ago, he pulls Bilbo into his arms and tucks him to his chest.

“Are you feeling better now?”

The question is a soft murmur in the dark of the room, and Thorin unthinkingly kisses the crown of Bilbo’s head before answering him.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Later he will clean Orcrist. Later he will pick up and leave his clothes for the servants to wash, and clean and polish and sharpen his blade. Later he will wake with Bilbo, who will leave to go to his own rooms with the braids still in his hair, and Thorin will notice and not say anything. Thorin will meet with Fíli and hear that the Council Members are wondering about who will fill the now empty seats but have no other concerns at present. He will listen to Nori and Dwalin to know he no longer needs to concern himself with matters regarding Hugin, before Thorin dismisses them both so they can rest for the remainder of the afternoon because they look as if they sorely need it. He will take a quick tea with Dís, and check in with Legolas who he will find with Gimli, before finally returning to his own chambers before dinner where he will wait for Bilbo to return. Which the Hobbit will, with his hair newly brushed and lacking braids and adornment.

But first, first, before all of that comes to pass, Thorin needs to sleep.

* * *

By the time he sees Bilbo again Thorin has drank a few cups of wine. One with Gimli and Legolas and two while waiting for Bilbo here in his rooms. It is a combination of alcohol, the restoration of sleep, and time that makes Thorin so free with his emotions at the sight of the Hobbit again. That allows him to finally move past the horror of today to focus on what has been accomplished.

Thorin laughs as soon as Bilbo enters, rushing forward to gather him in his arms and swing him around. “ _Ghivashel_!”

“Thorin!” Bilbo wriggles slightly and shouts in surprise. He’s a warm and sturdy weight in Thorin’s arms and the Dwarf relishes it. “What on all of Middle-Earth- put me down!”

But Thorin does not. He continues to practically jump around his chambers, happier than he has been in ages. His meetings with Dís, Dwalin and Fíli have done wonders for his mood, as has the sleep from earlier. There is a warmth in his blood that makes him need to work off his energy.

Finally he feels the jubilation from the trial that had been hovering beneath the surface in him before the execution narrowly snatched it away.

“Did you see them earlier, Bilbo? The Dwarves? Did you see their condemnation, their disapproval? How thoroughly Hugin was put in his place? Has Erebor not done us proud? Our people surprised me today in the best way possible.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo says, but now he sounds fondly exasperated. “Please, put me down.”

Finally he does, but he keeps hold of Bilbo’s hands as they look at each other. Thorin feels his face beaming.

Bilbo laughs at him, eyes bright. “Dear Yavanna, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“I don’t remember being so happy.” Thorin announces grandly, his smile continuing to split his face. Now, in the burning light of his rooms, he voices what he has been thinking since this morning. “Bilbo, do you see what this means? It means my people do not agree with Hugin’s sentiments. That he was an outlier, an aberration and stain on our kingdom. It means,” he takes a deep breath, “that should we choose to be together they would not object. You have their approval! We have their support.”

“Oh.” Bilbo sounds wonderstruck. Thorin considers that perhaps he had not thought of any of that yet. “I see.”

He still doesn’t seem excited, and his lack of enthusiasm brings Thorin’s own crashing down. “You do not seem pleased.”

“No, I am- well… yes, I am, of course I am. That’s wonderful, to have that confirmed.”

“But?”

“But Thorin we have other things to deal with at the moment. And we have not made any decisions regarding our courtship.”

Right.

Right. Of course, Bilbo hasn’t- obviously he isn’t- and Thorin is just making things awkward, constantly bringing things back to their relationship, always reminding Bilbo of the unanswered proposal, when there is so much else to focus on.

They had a lovely moment earlier, in the bath, but that is all it was. A moment. Nothing more.

Thorin needs to focus. He clears his throat. “What matters are you referring to?”

Bilbo looks embarrassed but he soldiers on. “Well, Alto of course! He’s still stuck down in the dungeon when we obviously need to let him go now that Hugin is… no longer a threat.”

Thorin bites his cheek. “Excuse me?”

“Well I realize he may need to lie low for the rest of the day, or until everything has calmed a bit, but surely we can move him from the cell to somewhere more comfortable. Nori would put him up if he needed it-

Thorin feels an irrational surge of anger. “I thought I made myself clear. That wretch will not be going free.”

And perhaps he is being a bit too harsh, perhaps he does not feel this strongly about it anymore, but he finds himself extremely annoyed with the turn this meeting has taken. Alto is the last thing he wants to discuss right now, and after the great triumph they’ve just had surely Bilbo must agree?

But from the way he gets that stubborn glint in his eye and his face hardens it’s clear that Thorin is mistaken.

“We never agreed on anything, you just kept setting it aside until Hugin was dealt with. Well, now he is, and surely we should allow Alto to go free instead of subjecting him to more discomfort? He’s in the dungeons, Thorin, and-”

“You do not have to remind me, I know perfectly well the location of my own prisoners.” Thorin interrupts. “And we don’t need to agree. I have made my decision, and in case you have forgotten, I am the king!”

Bilbo looks hurt, and Thorin is at a loss to understand why. “I thought you were taking my counsel on this.”

“In dealing with Hugin, yes, of course. But it is obvious we disagree here, and a decision must be made, a decision I have the power to make-”

“I see.” Bilbo is furious now and the volume of his voice climbs as he speaks. “You only seek my opinions and insight when you know I’ll agree with you. Gods, Thorin, have you learned nothing? Don’t you see that you can’t rule this way, you can’t live this way?”

“I’ve been doing perfectly well so far!” He shouts back. “Unless you’ve forgotten, Bilbo, I’ve been ruling alone since you left, and Erebor is now doing better than ever!”

And oh.

No.

That hadn’t been what Thorin meant to say at all.

But Bilbo’s face sets and he nods. “I see.”

“Bilbo, no, that’s not what I-”

“Seeing as I’m no longer needed,” Bilbo says viciously, “I suppose you won’t care that I’m going to go back to my own chambers. Maybe try talking to the wall in my absence, I’m sure it will give you none of the disagreement that you find so displeasing in me.”

“Bilbo, stop-”

“In your attempts to convince me that you love me, Thorin, you might try not insulting me and making me feel like my entire presence here is worthless and nothing more than a show.”

He leaves before Thorin can halt him, though he tries, his hand falling at his side after grabbing nothing but air. Leaves before an apology can work its way out of his mouth.

With a groan Thorin covers his face with his hands, trying to figure out how he can ever hope to fix this mess.

* * *

He skips dinner and goes and finds Dwalin shortly after, later that evening. He is alone in his chambers, for once, and Thorin barely even gives him a moment after his arrival before saying, “come on, we’re going to spar.”

Dwalin wisely takes one look at his face and nods. “Aye, let’s go then.”

That’s how they end up bedraggled and sweaty messes, lying panting on the floor of the training room with their weapons cast aside. After over an hour of sparring their muscles are too tired to do much else and besides, they both know sparring isn’t the real reason they’re out there.

Thorin broaches the subject first. “Bilbo and I fought.”

Dwalin grunts. “What else is new?”

Thorin shoots him a look and his friend shuts up. “I essentially told him his opinion is worthless and Erebor is better off without him.”

Dwalin is quiet for a few moments before heaving a huge sigh and dragging himself to sit up. Thorin follows suit.

“I know I say this often, but obviously not often enough for you to learn from it. You’re a brainless fool.”

“I know.” At Dwalin’s surprised look Thorin breaks eye contact. “It just slipped out. I was angry, we were fighting, and I spoke before I could think it through. Before I could word it better.”

“Hmm. He deserves a grand apology for that one.”

“Yes.”

“What were you fighting about? I would have thought you two would be all smiles after getting rid of Hugin today.”

Thorin licks his lips quickly, looking down into his lap. “Alto.”

“Ah.”

“Bilbo wants him released. I want him locked away forever where we can keep an eye on him. It led to… words.”

“Right.” Dwalin says, but he sounds distracted now. When the king looks over his old friend blushes, making him raise an eyebrow in question.

“You’re not the only one disagreeing over that. It’s causing problems.” Dwalin grunts finally, looking anywhere but at Thorin. “Between Nori and I. He’s upset with me.”

Thorin sighs. “He’s upset with _me_. You’re just… standing by my side.”

“And so he’s upset with me.” Dwalin repeats. “Usually it wouldn’t bother me so much but this time- well. This time I’m not so sure we’re in the right, Thorin.”

Thorin whips his head over to stare at him in astonishment. “Don’t tell me celibacy is affecting your reasoning.”

“Don’t push it.” Dwalin growls. “And don’t be a twat. You know that’s not what this is. Usually I’m as resolute as you are, things are black and white and decisions are easy to make, even the tough ones. That’s why I’m not the king. But this… I don’t know, Thorin. He didn’t actually hurt Bilbo.”

“He came far too close to it.”

“I don’t disagree. But he woke him up. He told us everything.” Dwalin scowls. “If he’d come directly to you or I and done the same thing you’d probably be rewarding him.”

That makes Thorin halt. Is that true? If it had been his bedroom Alto had gone to and him he’d woken up would he have been grateful instead? Can it really just be because it was Bilbo who had come so close to harms way that he is being so harsh?

But can anybody blame him?

“You’re saying Nori is right. My emotions are clouding my judgement.”

“I’m saying be careful and make sure they aren’t. You know I care for the Hobbit too. We all do, Nori included in that. Maybe the two of us are still being overprotective of him just like we’ve always been. Bilbo himself wants Alto released, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” Thorin replies unhappily as he heaves himself up to go and sit in one of the chairs off to the side of the space. “But Dwalin even if I don’t kill him, he’s a danger to Erebor. An assassin for hire? I can’t just let him go free.”

“No.” Dwalin’s brows furrow. “That’s where the problems lie.”

Thorin lets out a frustrated noise and drags his hands over his face tiredly.

“Usually I would trust Bilbo’s judgement.” He says eventually, quietly.

“And I would trust Nori’s.”

“One pair of us is being emotional about this.” Given Thorin’s rapid mood swings he is beginning to wonder if it really is him. “I wonder… perhaps I have not been as impartial as I should have been.”

“You? Allowing your emotions to cloud your judgement?”

“Don’t push it.” He warns Dwalin but he has to admit the reminder is well-timed. “It _is_ us in the wrong, isn’t it?”

Dwalin shifts uncomfortably. “It might be.”

He takes in the sight of his old friend. “I know why I’m overreacting. What is it about this that’s effecting you so much?”

Dwalin’s scowl is a sight to behold. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Explain it to me like I’m in my twenties.”

“Ha. Sometimes I wonder if your mind ever did develop past then.”

“Dwalin.”

The glower doesn’t lessen but the other Dwarf does sigh and stomp over to sit in one of the chairs beside him. “It’s bad enough that the menace got past my guards and in a position to seriously hurt Bilbo, if he’d been so inclined. That’s a blow to my pride and a threat to someone I care about. But... I know what he was to Nori, once.”

“Ah.” This does make more sense now. “More than friends, then?”

If anything Dwalin’s unhappy expression deepens. “I’m not exactly sure, but it’s likely, even if it was only casual. It’s more the fact that I knew absolutely nothing from Nori about him until the night he broke into Bilbo’s chambers.”

“Well,” Thorin is far out of his comfort zone and tries to find reassuring words. “Sometimes talk of past entanglements isn’t… the most easily broached.”

He is well-versed in that. Though he and Bilbo had discussed that years ago, it was clear that Thorin’s had all been meaningless fun while Bilbo… Bilbo had been much freer with his heart until the death of his parents. Though the dalliances had happened when Bilbo was young, that doesn’t mean they hadn’t been incredibly important to him at one point. Thorin knows there had been a couple of other Hobbits Bilbo had once been attached to.

And to think of it, Dwalin has his own romantic history to share with Nori. Though it’s true Thorin can’t remember there ever being anybody serious enough for Nori to be concerned over now. Not even Dari, who had been a close companion of Dwalin’s until the Battle of Azanulbizar.

He can see why Dwalin is uncomfortable. The relationship between Alto and Nori seems to run far deeper than a simple night of fun, and now that they are reunited it is possible that Nori won’t like to be separated from him again.

“If it did come to that,” Thorin begins slowly. “You could not… be open to an arrangement between the three of you?”

Some Dwarves have such relationships he knows, though he cannot picture it for himself. Ever. If Thorin knows any of his flaws it is that he is jealous and possessive to a fault, and the idea of sharing Bilbo with anyone else is not one he enjoys at all. Even Bilbo’s few past relationships are not something he likes to think about.

Dwalin’s face reflects his unhappiness. “He’s a criminal, Thorin.”

“So is Nori.” He feels the need to point out.

“Yes, but Nori is… different.”

Thorin stays quiet in silent acknowledgement. He understands the tone of Dwalin’s voice and what his friend is really saying.

“It would be easier if I thought he was rotten like Hugin and the others.” Dwalin continues. “But from what Nori’s told me, the two of them are… similar. Criminals from circumstance and necessity. Alto was there for him back when his parents died and he needed to help feed their family.” Suddenly his scowl is aimed at Thorin again. “Not a word of that to anybody else.”

“No.” He agrees. “You realize none of this is making my decision any easier.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Dwalin grumbles. “Look, Alto only goes to trial if you demand it. Otherwise your judgement is all we need. You heard what he said to us, and I saw your face after you spoke with him. You were already unsure.”

Now it is Thorin who frowns. “He was…convincingly earnest.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm me.”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me to punish a criminal in this kingdom appropriately, not to let him go because those we love wish us to.”

“Ah. Bad luck there then.”

Thorin allows his head to fall into his hands again.

* * *

He’s surprised to come back and find Bilbo already in his rooms (their rooms, a hopeful voice whispers in his mind before he pushes it away).

“Bilbo.” He stops short in the doorway. “I did not expect to see you.”

Bilbo is watching him closely. “Should I go?”

“No. Of course not. In fact I was thinking of coming to find you.” Thorin moves forward to kneel right in front of the Hobbit. “I am sorry. I spoke without thinking and what I said isn’t true. Not at all. I have been…”

“Idiotic?”

“Foolish.” Thorin says but meets Bilbo’s eyes. “Yes, idiotic, if you prefer. You’re all correct. I’ve been behaving rashly.”

Bilbo’s eyes brighten incrementally. “Oh?”

He looks at peace sitting there in front of the fire, but Thorin knows the air between them is heavy with their disagreement over Alto. With what he hopes is maturity rather than foolishness he brings up the subject.

“I spoke with Dwalin.”

“Oh?” Bilbo looks over at him easily as he repeats himself, but there is a knowing look about him that Thorin knows well. “What about?”

“Alto.” He searches for a hint of gloating or victory on Bilbo’s face but only sees patient curiosity. “You know what I’m about to say.”

“I hope so.” Bilbo admits and now he does smile a bit. “Please don’t prove me wrong.”

Their gazes hold and Thorin hesitates, unsure for a split second, before pushing his doubts away. “You’re right. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Bilbo’s smile widens as his lips twitch.

“I am glad to hear that.”

“Yes, well.” Thorin looks away uncomfortably, into the fire. “You and Nori are right. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement.”

“Anyone could have.”

“You didn’t.” Their eyes meet and hold.

“I already told you. If it had been you in the room with him that night, I don’t know what I would have done.” Bilbo looks away again. “What matters is that you changed your mind.”

“Yes well. Old age had softened me.”

“Ha!”

Bilbo laughs but they both know it’s true. Five years ago, Thorin would have acted first and thought later, deciding to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, that is a sign he has grown.

“What will you do with him instead?”

Now Thorin does look at him head on. He is confident in this decision at least. “He cannot be allowed to stay here. He’s too much of a threat and his loyalty is… fragile.”

Bilbo looks cautious. “So?”

“He will go back to Ered Luin.” Thorin says simply. “On our payroll. He will report to Nori and be… a useful asset.”

“So he’ll still be working as a spy but this time under your orders.”

“A spy is better than an assassin,” Thorin says softly and that does make Bilbo go quiet. “He will be back with Osha and only report anything that could threaten our family, friends and rule in Erebor. Many in the Blue Mountains were not happy to hear of my gold sickness and a few of the nobles had thought to stir up a challenge to my rule. I am not naïve enough to think the dissatisfaction among them has disappeared entirely.”

Bilbo doesn’t necessarily look happy but Thorin doesn’t think the feelings are directed at him. “I see.”

Still he needs to know. “Does this please you?”

“Me?” Bilbo blinks. “I thought you’d decided already with Dwalin.”

“This was what we settled on, yes, but nothing is official yet.” Thorin watches him closely. “I would like your input as well.”

He tries to look open. If Bilbo is to accept his courtship and stay here to become his consort, they will rule side-by-side. Thorin knows enough that to be equals means making compromises.

“I think it is fair.” Bilbo agrees slowly. “And perhaps the best solution for everyone.”

Satisfaction and victory are nice feelings to have for a change. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

Bilbo nods, looking thoughtful. “And if I had disagreed?”

“Then the two of us would have had to think of something better to suit us both.” Thorin reaches out to touch Bilbo’s hand lightly on the armrest of his chair. “Your opinion does matter to me, Bilbo, and I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like it did not.”

“Thorin you can’t-” Bilbo inhales shakily. “You can’t just _say_ things like that to me.”

He looks back, bewildered. “Why not?”

“Because-” Bilbo cuts himself off, mouth open before shaking his head. Thorin almost expects him to yell before he feels Bilbo link their pinkies together and squeeze. “Because,” he starts again. “It’s that kind of thing that will make me fall in love with you all over again.”

Thorin’s lips part in shock before he closes them quickly. “Would that be so bad, _ghivashel_?”

He means for it to be nonchalant and teasing but instead it comes out far more tentative than he likes. Bilbo’s eyes sear into his when their gazes meet.

“You know.” Bilbo says. “You know it wouldn’t. But it would be too much for me if you broke my heart again, Thorin.”

“And _you_ know,” he replies intently. “That doing that is the last thing I want.”

Bilbo looks conflicted and Thorin squeezes his pinky before pulling his hand away slowly. He is not hurt or offended, though any other night he might have been. For some reason tonight he is only glad to have this, this open and honest conversation, because it is something he has missed with Bilbo being gone. Having someone listen, not because they are obligated or in the wrong place at the wrong time, but rather, because Bilbo is interested and he wants to know.

Thorin is the same. He treasures every piece of information that Bilbo is willing to share.

“You say it,” Bilbo looks apologetic. “But I’m still scared.”

And that is a feeling Thorin understands all too well.

“I know. I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a big one. And the last one. Then there's just the epilogue and we're finished! I can't believe it, but don't worry, I'll save my final ramble for the epilogue notes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically one long, big argument that is long overdue. (And then some smut). When I say I am so nervous about this chapter it is the biggest understatement of my life.
> 
> (Expect a rant in the endnotes)
> 
> Nadad- brother  
> Amrâlimê- my love  
> Lansel- love of all loves

Alto leaves Erebor about a week before the wedding, with Osha by his side.

It is a happy parting, by all accounts. Nori sees them off, meaning Dwalin does as well, and Thorin hears from his best friend afterwards that the sun was shining brightly and there are no hard feelings on anybody’s part.

Bilbo had said goodbye to the Dwarf the day before, and he’d told Thorin that he was more certain than ever they’d made the right decision in sending Alto back to the Blue Mountains.

“I think he’s happy with his new role too.” Bilbo had hummed thoughtfully. “He said something to me… well. I think he’s been talking to Nori. He seems happy to take a step back from a few things.”

The news doesn’t disappoint Thorin in any way. In fact it makes him feel better about everything, especially as he gets the impression that to Alto the Blue Mountains are more his home than Erebor ever could be.

Thorin has not seen him since he’d gone down to the dungeons and ordered Alto’s release. He had personally informed Alto of his decision, feeling that he had a duty to do that much, at least, and he’d watched as the shackles came off.

The Dwarf hadn’t fallen to his feet in gratitude, but Thorin had never expected such a thing. However the surprise and appreciation had been clear from Alto’s expression and words, and that was enough. Thorin feels that the two of them have settled whatever animosity they’ve had for one another. Alto had even given Thorin a bow of his head before they had gone their separate ways outside of the jail cells, a sign of respect the king had never received from him before.

He’d discussed the conditions of Alto’s release with Nori first, who had sworn that Alto would join their payroll. From the look on his face and the tone of his voice Thorin had gotten the impression that his friend wouldn’t be giving Alto much of a choice. He is glad to hear from Bilbo that the acceptance wasn’t entirely coerced.

He knows what Alto’s history look like. Perhaps the Dwarf has even hurt or killed Dwarves that Thorin has known at some point in his life. But at the end of the day he trusts Nori and his code of values enough to believe that Alto has similar ethics he lives by. His refusal to harm Bilbo makes it clear the Dwarf isn’t afraid to refuse a job he believes is wrong, and Thorin has to believe Alto is someone it is safe to let go free. Especially now that he should no longer be taking jobs of that kind, given that Thorin is paying him for information and nothing more.

They have managed to keep his presence in Erebor fairly under wraps. Even Hugin hadn’t indicated that Alto was still in Erebor at his trial, not even during his seething rant after his judgement had been given. Thorin supposes Hugin had known that bringing Alto up wouldn’t have helped him in any way.

That is fine with Thorin. Keeping Alto’s identity and presence as hidden as possible gives him less to deal with.

In fact, it seems things are settling down, and just in time too. The wedding is now under a week away and Thorin, his family, and the rest of the Company, are all busy readying themselves for the big day. Preparations are well underway; the clearing outside is being tidied up and decorated, all invitations Thorin is aware of have been replied to, and the stores are full to bursting with food for the feast. Everything is coming together, and it warms Thorin’s heart to see it.

Truthfully, the only thing still plaguing him is Bilbo.

Not Bilbo himself, of course, but the proposal hanging over both of their heads, and the expectation that comes with it. They have been sharing quarters, which has been the sweetest torture Thorin could imagine, and there are times when everything feels so settled between them that Thorin forgets they still aren’t actually engaged, or even officially and publicly courting. The two of them are probably the worst kept secret in Erebor at this point.

And Thorin knows he has promised to wait, knows he has sworn to allow Bilbo to make his mind up without pressure or interference, but it feels as though time is running out. Bilbo has agreed to stay longer than the wedding, for as long as it takes him to give Thorin an answer, but still Thorin feels himself growing restless. He had set Tauriel and Kíli’s wedding day as a tentative deadline in his head, and after everything he and Bilbo have been through since the Hobbit’s return Thorin doesn’t understand how more time will do anything to sway Bilbo’s answer. Surely whatever he feels now is as good an indication as any as to how he will respond?

Thorin finds that he just cannot wait anymore. It feels like he’s been waiting an age, even though Bilbo has only been back several weeks.

He is only so strong, and Thorin crumbles that night Alto and Osha leave. His hopes are high. The two of them are in such a different place now than they had been when Bilbo had arrived back. He knows Bilbo cares for him a great deal, knows that the Hobbit is still in love with him even.

It is trust, or lack of it, that is holding Bilbo back. And now that Thorin has settled everything with charges and criminals and coups, and he has a few days before the wedding takes place, he decides to take advantage of his free time to try and settle this. To finally know, one way or another.

So he works up his courage to take one last chance.

Maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to do so if everyone wasn’t encouraging him. Kíli and Fíli have both been giving him nudges and winks anytime they are near, and Thorin has all but avoided them for the past two days because of it. The entire Company has been watching him and Bilbo with expectant looks, even Gandalf, which makes Thorin wonder what Bilbo has been saying to all of them in Thorin’s absence, since _he_ certainly hasn’t mentioned anything to anyone.

And Dís… well, let’s just say his sister is being her usual blunt self.

That morning she had cornered him in his office, sitting down comfortably on the other side of his desk and looking expectant.

“Has he given you an answer yet?”

Thorin had intentionally continued to stare down at the papers he’d been working on. “If he had you would be the first to know.”

She’d harrumphed, making him look up at her with a sigh and chastising stare. “What’s taking you two so bloody long?”

“Dís-”

“You love him, he loves you- don’t give me that look, _nadad_ , it’s obvious to anybody with eyes- so I don’t see what the issue is.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I see how it was, but now everything appears sorted! You seem entirely comfortable with one another, and obviously he’s forgiven you. You’re sharing a bed for Mahal’s sake-”

“I won’t force him, Dís.”

“No, but you should not entirely give up either. I am asking you to make an effort, Thorin, you deserve to know where you stand. That is all.”

And though Thorin has done his best to hold out from all of their pressuring and obvious impatience, his own has proven too great to ignore. He has thought a great deal over the past few days. Not only about how he may convince Bilbo of his love, but also of what he will do if Bilo rejects his courtship.

He knows this: he does not want to rule alone anymore. Bilbo’s return has shown him that. And even his family and friends, even Balin and Dwalin and the others, they are not enough to ease that ache in his heart any longer.

Erebor is full of memories for Thorin, many of which are painful. He does not want to add any more memories of his heartbreak and loss to his home. If Bilbo rejects him and leaves… well. There is a very good chance Thorin will not remain in Erebor long after.

But these are only the half-shaped haphazard plans of his own mind. There is still much to be done and decided before anything like that will come to pass.

Including Bilbo’s answer to his courtship.

So he brings it up.

The two of them are lazing in front of the fire, as is their wont at that time of day before dinner, and Thorin sets aside the papers he has been pretending to read and dares to broach the subject.

Or he would have if Bilbo didn’t pull it out of him first.

“I see there’s something you want to say.” Bilbo’s face and voice are soft, and though he doesn’t look up from his book, the smile on his face is easy for Thorin to see. “You might as well just get it over with.”

Thorin smiles too, despite his nerves. “You know me too well.”

“Not too well. Most days I feel I can barely keep up with you.”

“Now that can’t be true.”

“I assure you it is. And you’re stalling.” Bilbo smiles knowingly, putting his book aside. “Won’t you confide in me?”

“It’s not like that.” Thorin glances away. “I’ve just been wondering lately…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t wish to rush you.” He says and Bilbo slowly grows more serious. “But I cannot help but think about the reactions of the Dwarves at Hugin’s trial. Of their acceptance of you. And I would like to know what you have been thinking lately. About us.”

“Oh.” Bilbo blinks. “I see.”

Thorin hurries to put him at ease. “If I am pressing for too much-”

“No, no. Of course not. If anyone has a right to know it’s you, after all. I just... well I suppose I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Oh.” Now Thorin is surprised. “I see.”

“Not because it isn’t important, or that I’m not taking it seriously,” Bilbo rushes to say. “But because lately I’ve almost forgotten that we aren’t what we once were, you see?”

A surge of warmth goes through him at the words. “Yes. I do.”

“Everything has just been so wonderful this past week.” Bilbo looks away. “The entire time I’ve been here, really, apart from the business with Hugin.”

And really, only Bilbo could refer to an attempted assassination as _the business_.

“I’ve just been making the most of it while I have it, I suppose.”

Thorin frowns a bit at that, trying not to read too much into the wording. “I see.”

That’s what he says, but he doesn’t actually understand any more than he had before. There seems to be two things the Hobbit is saying here.

Bilbo acts as if they are in love. Bilbo forgets they are not courting as they had been before he’d left. And yet he hints that it is all to come to an end soon.

What is Thorin to make of that?

Their eyes meet and the look in Bilbo’s makes Thorin warier. The Hobbit is beginning to look somber, which is not a good sign. Thorin feels his heart fill with dread.

It occurs to him that this is the first time they have spoken of this in quite a while. Perhaps the first time they have spoken of Bilbo’s feelings for longer than one or two sentences since he had tentatively encouraged Thorin to court him. It feels like so long ago now, that day they had gone outside with Dwalin and Tauriel. The day Bilbo had admitted their relationship was far from over.

Perhaps Thorin should have asked sooner.

Has he been misreading things? Assigning more meaning to the moments they have shared than Bilbo has? Can he be entirely wrong in hoping?

From the way Bilbo is looking at him, Thorin is beginning to fear that is the case.

“But even with that you do not think you can accept me.”

“I- no, I couldn’t say that.”

His heart hammers. The words are not reassuring, and desperation mixes with shock to loosen his tongue. “You must know there is nothing I would not do for you.”

“Thorin-”

“If you wish for me to go back to the Shire with you I will do so gladly.”

And he will. He’s considered it many times, and though before Thorin hadn’t been willing to put Fíli on the throne, lately he has been wondering whether it would really be so bad.

His nephew has stepped up in the past few years. Thorin isn’t sure what he would have done without him at times. Fíli has proven to him, and everyone around them, that he can handle the duties of Erebor’s King. More than that, he has shown he can perform them well, and that he is ready to take on more responsibility. He is almost always at Thorin’s side asking what to do and where he can help; that is, if he is not already working away at something Thorin had intended on getting around to eventually.

Thorin has been watching him lately with a strange feeling of pride in his chest.

It is not an easy thing, to raise your replacement, knowing that the kingdom you love and devote yourself to so dearly will move on with another once you are gone. Sometimes Thorin cannot look at his heir without being reminded that Fíli will take his place one day.

But on the other hand, Thorin loves his family more than anything else in all of Middle-Earth. And when it comes to ruling Erebor, he would trust no other.

So if taking the crown is something Fíli would want, if he is ready, and if Bilbo wants Thorin to go to the Shire with him, then Thorin will make it so. And he will do it gladly and with excitement in his heart.

“What?”

Bilbo sounds overwhelmed. Thorin wonders if that idea is something Bilbo has thought of, and if so, how often. From the look on the Halfling’s face he thinks he knows the answer.

It pains and joys him in equal measure.

He moves forward to kneel before Bilbo who is still sitting down. “The Shire. If that is where you feel you belong, and if you would rather us live together there, then I will make it happen, _amrâlimê_.” He swallows. “As long as we may be together.”

He sees it, the emotions Bilbo tries to hide. He sees the hope there, the wonder.

And he sees when Bilbo pushes them down and away.

“Don’t be fantastical or exaggerate. Erebor is your greatest love.” Bilbo wrenches his gaze away, as if he can no longer bear to look at Thorin and speak at the same time, before he continues gently, softly. Thorin shifts where he is kneeling in front of him. “You went to war for her. Would have died for her. This kingdom is what you treasure most.”

“No.” Thorin’s reply is desperate as he looks up at Bilbo. “No. Erebor is as precious to me as my kin, yes, but you Bilbo, are my greatest treasure.” When Bilbo still looks doubtful Thorin feels himself grow slightly frustrated. “ _Lansel._ I want you more than anything. More than Erebor.”

“Do not say such things.”

“How can I not when they are the truth?” Thorin retorts. “I have not said it enough and I failed to make it plain before I sent you away, which will always be my biggest regret. But I will not repeat my mistakes, Bilbo, I refuse to allow that. I need you to understand that when I say I love you, I mean it. That if I had to give up everything, the treasure, the Arkenstone, Erebor, I would do it. I would do it for you Bilbo Baggins, you need only ask.”

Bilbo’s face wavers, something almost like fear in the lines of his expression.

“No.” He whispers in a hush. “You do not mean it.”

“Ask me.” Thorin begs from his knees. “Ask me to and I will renounce it all. Fíli may still be young yet but with Dis and the others to advise him he will make a good king. He is already far better at ruling than I was at his age. Better than I was when the crown came to me.”

He holds Bilbo’s eyes. “I can no longer do it, Bilbo, not alone. Not without you. When you were gone I woke miserable and cold in my empty bed and I ached for you always. Before you returned I had wallowed in misery for so long I became cold to all, even those I love dearest. Without you I would look at Erebor and only think of what I have sacrificed for it. I have no desire to continue the pantomime of the past five years. I want you by my side.”

“I told you long ago.” Bilbo is shaking. “I will not make you choose between Erebor and myself. I don’t want that.”

“I already did.” Thorin confesses, though he has a feeling that they are both thinking it. Remembering. “And I chose wrong. But now you are back, and I have been granted a chance to fix my mistake.”

His words cause Bilbo to freeze and his expression to harden. “I do not wish to be somebody’s second choice.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s voice is a plead, desperate for him to just _understand_. “I cannot explain it, not even to myself. You have never been a second choice. I did not send you away because I loved Erebor more than you. I chose what would make others happiest, not myself. If I had listened to my heart that day, I would have gone with you to the Shire and we would likely still be there.”

“You lie.” Bilbo’s voice cracks. “You lie and you lie and still you expect me to believe you when I have no reason to know what to trust and what not to. Where is the proof of this? You say you have regretted sending me away but how do I know? What is there to show you spared even a moment to think of me all the time I was gone? There were no letters, Thorin, and you had no conversations with the Company which they can verify- believe me, I’ve asked. Your anger all of these years could have been the result of many things and have nothing to do with me. How am I to know I am the cause of your anguish when you are the one who told me that wasn’t true five years ago?”

Thorin’s tongue stalls.

“I can give you nothing but my word. I told you, I lied all those years ago. All I can do now is let you know what I feel. And it is this.” He takes a deep breath. “If you wish for it I will give Erebor up and everything in it. I will go home to the Shire with you and I will be happy, my love, as long as we are together.”

Bilbo’s eyes shine.

“But if you do not want me, if I have hurt you too much, this I will also understand. You deserve far better than I, Bilbo Baggins, and I am not unaware of the fact. It is part of the reason I sent you away. Because I knew I was unworthy.” Bilbo opens his mouth and Thorin does not know whether it is to protest. He speaks before the Hobbit can. “You more than anybody deserve to be loved with someone’s entire heart, and I was too foolish to see that, caught between you and Erebor as I was. I did not appreciate you.”

“But now?”

“Now my heart is yours.” Thorin says simply. “To do with as you wish. If you do not want it I will never speak of it again and you are free to return to the Shire alone.”

He forces the words out, though they are painful, needing Bilbo to understand. Thorin is not trying to be selfish or pressure Bilbo into anything. He has the choice, as he always has. No, Thorin is just trying to be honest, like he had not been years ago. He is telling Bilbo exactly where he stands, exactly what he feels. Even though it hurts.

“We will part ways and there will be no ill-will on my part, not for you. But,” and here he takes a deep breath, voicing what he has only thought to himself before, “there is a chance I will still abdicate.”

“Why?” Bilbo asks and he sounds pained as well as astonished. “How does that make any sense?”

“Perhaps it doesn’t.” He admits. “But without you I am not my best self. Erebor needs a king wholly committed to ruling her and if my heart is aching from the loss of you I cannot. I know this well.”

“You are being unfair.” Bilbo spits out. “If I do forgive you and ask you to come to the Shire, I have caused you to abdicate. If I do not, you abdicate anyway and wallow alone. Whatever I choose, you lose something. Either you lose what you have spent half your life fighting to reclaim or you lose me. How can I answer that for you?” He is breathing hard. “Unless your aim is to guilt me into choosing you and opting for us to remain here in Erebor together. Every option is tainted.

Thorin stops, caught in the truth of the words. “It was not my intention to make you feel responsible for my actions. Or to guilt you into anything.”

“Was it not?”

“No!” He says in earnest. “My behaviour is mine and mine alone. You cannot help that I love you and you cannot be blamed for it. And this mess we are in is my doing, not yours. You are not responsible for anything to come.” His voice hardens. “And you are not responsible for the happiness of Erebor.”

“No, you are!” Bilbo shouts, shoving his chair back in his anger as he stands up furiously. “You are, yet you kneel in front of me and place the burden on my shoulders. Why can you not continue to rule as you have been? Half of your heart is still better than the whole of anyone else’s. You are King Under the Mountain, Thorin, nobody else. We all followed _you_ , the Company knelt to _you_ , and this kingdom was won again under _your_ leadership. Yet now you would throw it all away? You are a king, whether you like it or not, and I will not allow you to give up and behave as a coward would because of your own foolishness or our situation.”

Thorin stands, fury blazing. “You do not understand!”

“I understand very well and much better than you!”

Bilbo pokes his finger into Thorin’s chest hard. Thorin cannot remember ever seeing Bilbo so upset, and as the Hobbit’s fury washes over him, he begins to suspect that this argument is not the sole cause of it.

Had Bilbo every truly gotten mad at Thorin after coming back here and being confronted with him again? Perhaps this is a fury that has been building for years, an old anger that is finally being expressed.

Bilbo’s next words all but confirm that suspicion.

“You are allowing your personal grievances to cloud your judgement as you always do. Erebor is doing better than any could have hoped and that is because of your leadership. Whether you are miserable or not is your own fault. Rule with half a heart if you must, it is working perfectly well thus far!”

“I cannot.” Thorin says, trying to rein in his own annoyance, knowing that Bilbo’s words are coming from a place far deeper than he’d initially imagined. “The mere idea is dishonorable.”

“Then be dishonored.” Bilbo says and something flashes in his eyes. Something old and hurt. “Better yet, make it penance.”

“Penance?” Thorin feels as if he has been struck and shock fills him quickly.

“You wanted me to choose, yes? To decide your fate? Well here it is, Your Majesty.” The words are ugly, and Bilbo begins to cry as he speaks, which only hurts Thorin more. “You didn’t want me by your side years ago and perhaps you were right. I sentence you to a life of ruling over the kingdom you were willing to throw away everything for. You will walk its cold halls with nobody by your side and sit in your rooms surrounded by gold and gems knowing their worth is but a fraction of the loved ones you have mistreated.”

He swallows painfully, audibly and Thorin can do nothing but watch, helpless as the judgement is rained down on him. Helpless in the face of Bilbo’s fury that has been building for five years.

“I stole the Arkenstone from you. I betrayed you. And in return for that you broke my heart and sent me away. I am serving my sentence for my mistake. Why should you not serve yours?”

“No.” Thorin whispers, remembering that horrible time and its culmination on top of the ramparts. He sees what Bilbo fears- that Thorin breaking his heart is punishment for his actions before the Battle, all those years ago.

As if Thorin could do such a thing.

He thought Bilbo knew him better than that. Thorin thought everything that has happened with Hugin was enough to show Bilbo he had been telling the truth, and the true depth of his fear over Erebor’s reaction to Elves and Hobbits living here.

But five years of anger and worry and insecurities and heartbreak is a powerful thing.

Thorin swallows. “These are not your words. This is not you. You don’t mean it.”

Bilbo looks away from him and Thorin grows desperate.

“Bilbo please. You have no sentence to serve, no punishment to bear. I take back it all. I will stay on as king, I will rule, whatever you wish, but please believe me when I say you did not betray me. Never.”

“You said so yourself, Thorin.”

“And then I woke from my madness and saw the truth. I had you convinced of that once, and would have it be so again. You have no reason to suffer.”

“Don’t I?” Bilbo asks. “Have I not been heartbroken since that day you told me you did not love me?”

Thorin closes his eyes, unable to face the old accusation. “I did not mean it.”

“No, perhaps not. But it does not erase what has happened since then. We cannot be together Thorin. Nothing has changed by my return except for the distance between us.”

“I have.”

Bilbo just looks at him sadly. He isn’t crying anymore. “I cannot believe you.”

And then he leaves. Just like that.

* * *

Thorin remains in his rooms, barely able to move, and that is where Bilbo finds him again, not even an hour after he has stormed out. The Hobbit slips into his chambers quietly to find Thorin sitting pensively in his armchair in front of the fire, gaze locked on the flames while he’s occupied with his own turmoiled thoughts.

It is only when Bilbo clears his throat that Thorin realizes he has returned at all. The noise makes him jump and his heart pounds as he looks over, only to find Bilbo standing there with sorrowful eyes taking him in.

“Bilbo,” he says in a mixture of surprise and relief.

He looks tired and concerned. “You did not go to dinner.”

Thorin blinks. Has dinner come and gone already? “I lost track of time.”

Bilbo nods. “You’re not the only one. I had to beg something from the kitchens.”

The knowledge that Bilbo missed a meal does nothing to ease Thorin’s guilt. It only cements the gravity of their disagreement.

Bilbo rarely misses eating. Even when their Company had been on the road. For him to do so means something is truly grave, that it is truly bothering him.

“You found something?”

“Yes.” Thorin only notices the plate of sliced ham and cold potatoes Bilbo is holding when the Hobbit sets it down on the table beside him in silent offering. “It’s good.”

He nods, eyes lingering on the plate, before turning back to the fire. “I’m glad.”

Silence goes by before Bilbo sighs deeply. “Thorin.”

And Thorin knows that tone, knows what it means, and refuses to give in and look back at him. “Do not.”

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo apologizes anyway, ignoring his wish. “The things I said- they were cruel. And untrue.” He hesitates. “You have no need to do penance. Not on my behalf.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.” He sounds gentler now and he moves to come and stand between Thorin and the fire, forcing their eyes to meet. “I forget sometimes, that it was not just me who suffered while we were apart. You have changed, you’ve changed so much I almost don’t recognize you at times. And you have made up for your mistakes. Whatever penance you deserved, you have done it, and then some.”

Thorin shakes his head. “But you had to suffer that as well.”

“Oh Thorin.” He sounds fondly exasperated for a moment. “Don’t you know that I would walk over burning coals with you if it meant you did not have to suffer alone?”

The words make them both freeze and Thorin sees the near panic that flashes across Bilbo’s expression.

“Life’s challenges are not solo ventures.” He says hastily. “I told you long ago that I would gladly share in your perils and I meant it. As I would for all who are dear to me.”

Whatever hope this conversation has been giving Thorin disappears with those words. His response is dull. “Of course.”

Bilbo catches his change in mood, of course. “You understand, don’t you?”

Thorin swallows. “That you cannot love me anymore? Yes, Master Baggins, I understand why that is so all too well.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t hold me at a distance when I’m trying to talk to you.” Bilbo says fiercely. “I can’t change how I feel, no matter how much I might want to, even if only to spare both of us. I cannot force myself to trust you again when I remember how it ended last time.”

Thorin stares up at him. “Even after you know what I went through without you?” He asks. “Despite knowing how much I care about you, and always have?”

“But I don’t know. Especially when you made me leave. No, no, let me say this.” He stops Thorin from speaking. “Earlier I grew angry. I- I lashed out and said things I have only thought in my worst moments during the past five years. Things I have not believed for a long time. And I needed that, to get that anger off my chest and share it with you, even if it’s not how I feel anymore or what I think now.”

He swallows visibly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that while we were apart I was left alone. You did not come to me. You didn’t even write to ask me to come back. Or write at all.” Bilbo looks at him desperately, almost pleading with him, demanding an answer, finally, that will satisfy them both. “Why should I believe you missed me at all when you gave no indication of it?”

Thorin swallows. He’d had reasons back then, for not contacting Bilbo. Good reasons, or so he’d thought. But now, faced with the true depth of Bilbo’s anger and hurt at being cast out without any comfort or explanation or contact on Thorin’s part, he can only give him one.

“I did not think you would want me to.”

Bilbo’s face closes off. “Even if I did not, even if I had rejected the first or third attempt you made… you didn’t even try, Thorin. And yet you tell me you missed me all that time. Do you see why I find it hard to believe you?”

“Yes,” he rasps. “I see.”

Bilbo looks away. “You don’t understand what it was like. I went back to the Shire and from the first moment I stepped foot there I knew I would never belong again. I came home to find the people I’d thought of as friends and neighbours auctioning off all of my things. They’d ransacked my home. And I realized, walking through the empty mess, that I would let them have all of it to be back with you. I missed my Dwarves. All of you. You all came into Bag-End and took everything you wanted without so much as a by-your-leave, but- but you all tidied up in the morning. And more than that, you shared and prepared it for us all, though I was too grumpy to partake as much as I should have, looking back. And though it happened slowly, I became one of you, on our journey. I felt like I’d found people I finally belonged with. That I’d found a family.”

He looks down, cutting himself off abruptly. “Arriving back there… that was the first time other Hobbits ever truly irritated me to the point that I thought I didn’t belong with them.” He sighs. “But it wasn’t the last.” He shakes his head. “And though at first I had plenty to do to distract myself from my own heartbreak and grief- tracking down my things and reorganizing Bag-End chief among them- it didn’t take long for me to be left with nothing. There is only so much you can weed a garden, or water vegetables.

“The amount of invitations I declined simply because I didn’t feel up to socializing…” His mouth ticks up at one corner, though it isn’t happily. “I was lonely, Thorin, but I isolated myself in my loneliness. I waited on letters from the others with bated breath, and with every Raven, with every piece of parchment, I would hope to see your scrawl in ink. Even just your name, signed at the bottom. Anything to show me that you had given me a moment’s thought.” He shakes his head again. “The number of half-written letters I threw into the fire instead of sending you…”

He trails off, allowing silence to settle heavily, and Thorin’s eyes close briefly at the thought of all the letters unsent between them.

“I would have reached out to you in a heartbeat if I thought you would welcome it. But it was not me who sent you away, and I knew the first overture had to be yours. It’s why I only came back when I thought you had given Fíli permission to invite me. I made a point of asking him before I accepted.”

He stands there, waiting for a response, which Thorin struggles to give him.

“Nori visited you.” He rasps eventually, still overcome with Bilbo’s confession. “He said you were well.”

“As well as I could be.” Bilbo looks at him significantly. “As well as you were, from the sound of it.”

Thorin nods to himself and the two of them watch one another. This is a painful conversation, but one they must have. Now they just need the courage to continue it.

Thorin must find that courage.

“Do you know what I keep remembering?”

“What?”

“When we opened the secret door on Durin’s Day.”

Bilbo frowns, looking caught off-guard. Thorin cannot blame him; his train of thought must be unfathomable. 

“What about it?”

“That,” Thorin says seriously, “is when I first knew I loved you.”

Bilbo only stares at him in silence for a few moments. “You’re serious?”

He nods again, noting the Hobbit’s widening eyes.

“You didn’t give up.” He smiles crookedly. “The rest of us all lost heart, myself included, but you… You never did, Bilbo. And that was when I knew.”

“How? Why that night, what did it prove? What does that have to do with any of _this_?”

“That you were just as invested as I was. More so even. And I thought, here you were. Finally. Someone I could share the burdens of ruling with. Someone who could care for Erebor as much as I do. Your dedication and your faith, in us and our quest, in me and this place…. I love you for many reasons, Bilbo, but it’s the way you value home that made me realize the two of us were not so different after all.

“It was after the Goblin Tunnels that I first allowed myself to grow close to you. Mostly because by then I realized there was a chance you would survive our mad quest, that we all would, and perhaps it would not be in vain to allow myself to get attached. That is when you told me you were committed and here to stay, and when I first saw a possibility of the two of us being together in some way even after our mad journey was done.”

That speech had touched him, and it is seared into his memory even now. It was perhaps the first time the connection he shared with Bilbo hadn’t seemed completely ridiculous, unrealistic or inconceivable. They bonded, in that moment, in a way they never had before. Bilbo saving his life later that night had only strengthened what had already been put into place.

“But that night we opened the door… that is when I believed you fully. When I allowed myself to give everything I am to you, because I trusted you to take care of it. And I am sorry I have broken that trust with you and that you no longer feel that way about me.”

He sees Bilbo swallow twice before he manages to reply. “I never felt at home in the Shire once I went back. Even before leaving I was odd, despite trying hard not to be. Always apart, or at least I felt that way. But with all of you, here… I found myself in a way I never had before. I grew comfortable and confident. And I never lost that when I left, but I also never feel as comfortable or self-assured as when I’m here in Erebor with you all.”

“What are you saying?”

“This is home to me now.” Bilbo’s words are so simple to have such a large impact on Thorin. But they do. He feels himself look at Bilbo with renewed affection. “It has been ever since I fought Wargs and Orcs and a Dragon to reclaim it. You and Erebor and the Company, you are my home. I don’t wish for you to come to the Shire with me Thorin. I don’t want to leave Erebor ever again.” He looks at him pointedly. “But it’s not Erebor without you.”

Thorin opens his mouth but finds he doesn’t have anything to say so he closes it again and allows Bilbo to finish.

“And my loyalty and devotion… it’s yours, Thorin. If you’ll accept it.”

Thorin feels his heart lift to his throat. “I will. You know I will.”

He knows Bilbo well enough to hear exactly what the Hobbit does and does not say. He does not say he will stay to be with Thorin and accept him into his heart once more, or that Thorin is forgiven. Their argument still hangs between them unresolved, or at least unsatisfying to Bilbo who still struggles with the lack of proof, and to Thorin who still wishes for a concrete answer. Bilbo may be saying that he is devoted to Thorin, but actually _being_ _with_ him is another thing entirely.

However, the Dwarf picks up their conversation, still trying to make Bilbo understand. His voice is hushed, speaking secrets only for Bilbo’s ears. “I thought home was Erebor. Its walls, the rooms, the Arkenstone and my people gathered together once more. But I began to realize on the quest, and especially after you left, that home to me isn’t Erebor, Bilbo. It is you. You’re my home; and I’m so sorry that I understood that too late.”

Bilbo smiles sadly. “I was more miserable in Bag-End than I had any right to be. But I suppose that’s because you became my home too.”

“Then stay.” Thorin doesn’t allow him to interrupt. “Whether or not we are together, if you feel at home here then Erebor is yours. You belong here, with us. With those who love you.”

“Thorin-”

“But you must stay knowing this. Whether you love me or not, trust me or not, I must tell you one last time how I feel, though I have no right to,” Thorin says. “Not when you have not accepted me. But I am yours, Bilbo. Always. I want you more than anything. More than Erebor.” He swallows. “And I would do anything to know there is the slightest chance you could love me again as deeply as I love you.”

“No right?” Bilbo smiles sadly. “Thorin, you have the only right.”

His heart stutters.

“You must know then.” He goes on desperately. The words are hard to get out and take a long time for him to say. “When I say I missed you all these years it isn’t a lie. I have been… pathetic, many would day. Dwalin certainly has. But also desolate. Inconsolable without you.”

“Then why,” Bilbo is shaking his head again, sounding near tears. “How could you send me away? Because I couldn’t have done it to you, Thorin, I truly don’t think I could have.”

“I don’t know.” Thorin whispers while feeling his own eyes fill. “Truthfully Bilbo I don’t know how I did it. It went against every instinct, every wish I had. Even while I told you to go I knew I would regret it, and yet I forced myself to keep speaking.” He pauses. “I have never grieved anything so much as you. Or regretted anything as bitterly as the day I allowed you to leave.”

“It isn’t enough.” Bilbo moves farther away forcefully. “It isn’t, Thorin. Because even now, even after hearing you say all of this, I know that the only reason I’m here in front of you again is because of your nephews!”

Thorin stops.

“Everything you tell me of, the pain and regret you felt, it cannot possibly be what I experienced back in the Shire. Because I thought of you every day. I could not go an hour without you crossing my mind, and if it had been me, I would have broken within an hour and run after you to beg you to return and be with me. Yet what proof do I have that you went through the same? You did not ask me to return, Fíli did, and unless I missed some Raven by arriving here so early for Kíli’s wedding, you would not have asked me back and had no plans to. That does not speak of longing to me. Rather, it seems to say I was entirely too easy for you to forget and move on from, and only my appearing here suddenly and without your knowledge has made you reconsider.”

“That is entirely untrue-”

“ _How do I know?”_ Bilbo yells so loudly the question rings throughout the room. “There is nothing, nothing, to show me that what you say now is true. And though it is so easy to believe you, though I want to so badly, I cannot escape the niggling doubt that this is going to end with me broken hearted and alone back in the Shire just like last time.”

“Bilbo-”

“No.” He sounds more obstinate than Thorin has ever heard, even with tears in his eyes and a waver in his voice. “No, Thorin, I’m sorry.” The tears spill over and he begins to cry in earnest. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t do it. It’s too much to risk and I’ve never been brave, not when it comes to this. I can’t be with you.” He sucks in a deep and trembling breath. “I cannot accept your courtship.”

Thorin feared this would be the outcome of their fight, of the proposal, but to hear the words from Bilbo’s mouth is too much and he freezes. He is powerless to do anything but stare at the One he loves, knowing his heartbreak is showing plainly in his expression.

It occurs to him that this is the same room they had been in when Thorin had announced Bilbo had to leave all those years ago. This room has already witnessed their heartbreak once. The only difference this time is that now it is Bilbo breaking their hearts rather than Thorin.

Bilbo looks absolutely _wrecked_.

“I’m sorry.” He keeps repeating through his tears. “I’m sorry, I know this hasn’t been fair to you and I thought I could do it, that we would make it, I really did. But what happened between us was too much Thorin, and though we’ve changed because of it I don’t know if we’ve changed enough. I don’t know that you won’t break our hearts and put us through that again. Because I trusted you last time too and look where that got me.”

Finally, Thorin’s tongue unfreezes, and he tries to speak. It comes out as a desperate and pleading croak. There is one thing, one piece of evidence, that he can think of that may change the Hobbit’s mind. “Bilbo, please, on the side of the mountain there is-”

“No. I’m- I can’t. I’m not strong enough.” Bilbo speaks over him and backs away to the door, clearing his throat. “After the wedding I’m going back to the Shire. And I don’t think I’m ever likely to return.”

Thorin stares at him, watching as the Hobbit turns and places a hand on the door handle. He watches Bilbo hesitate, he sees the glance he shoots back, the warring emotions on his face and the wetness of his cheeks.

He sees when the indecision is replaced by resolve and Bilbo wrenches his gaze away and forcefully opens the door to leave.

Through it all Thorin is helpless to do anything but watch. And then he is alone.

He is alone. Bilbo is gone, and he won’t be coming back, not to these rooms, not after what he has just said.

What they are is done. Over.

Thorin gasps, reaching up to press at his chest over his heart, feeling how it hurts. He stands there like that for an age before his entire body begins to tremble and he knows he has to do something.

First Thorin paces, but that is not enough. Heartbreak is not so easily walked off.

No, Thorin wants to scream. He wants to yell and he wants to cry.

And there is only one place he can go and be certain of being undisturbed.

Without waiting another moment, he escapes his guards posted at his chamber door by using the tunnel leading from his rooms to his office. He then leaves to make his way down the hall towards the orchard, luckily avoiding seeing anybody on his way.

The plate of food Bilbo had brought for him goes untouched.

* * *

He must stay there an age. At first he wanders in a daze, not taking in his surroundings at all. A pack of Orcs could creep up on him and he would be caught unawares, that’s how lost in his own head he is.

Not only has Bilbo rejected him, but he is leaving as well. After just confessing to Thorin that is the last thing he wants, that he would rather remain here in Erebor where he feels more at home, he will go back to the Shire anyway to avoid them both the pain of being in one another’s company.

Thorin wishes he could be angry at him. Wishes that Bilbo was not entirely in the right to do what he is. He cannot hold back his sobs, knowing that he is the one who has brought this upon them both. It makes his very soul ache. Thorin can hardly bear it.

Knowing that Bilbo is causing himself pain by deciding to leave Erebor and all of them behind is crippling him.

Eventually though, his eyes clear and he notices the beginnings of weeds that have grown in the time since he has made it out here.

Valar. Is it really true that so much could have happened since Bilbo’s arrival here in Erebor just over four weeks ago? Can the wedding really only be a few days away?

Once he notices the few weeds their existence gnaws at him, and he does not stop moving until he has picked them all. There is only a tiny pile laying on the ground beside the flower beds by the time he is done, and he wishes there were more so he could keep himself busy. It is cathartic to take his emotions out on the weeds, but today he isn’t soothed by the action at all.

The paths are not overgrown and plucking the few thin weeds that have shot up from beneath the gravel is simple. Around the tree trunks is clear as the grass is too thick there for any unwanted plant life to grow.

Finally, after a long time, Thorin is satisfied.

It does not make him feel any better.

In the end he makes his way to the edge of the orchard and looks down onto the lights of Dale, staring at them unseeing, lost in his own thoughts. By the time his solitude is finally broken he must have been out there for hours.

“ _Thorin_.”

He turns quickly at the sound of that voice, heart in his throat when he sees Bilbo standing there. The Hobbit is looking around in wonder, hands hanging at his sides and eyes wide with amazement. He looks remarkably small against the slope of the mountain side, surrounded by trees that are only barely taller than them.

There is a wind coming from the direction of Dale and it is gently brushing the curls of Bilbo’s brown hair against his forehead. Thorin’s gaze catches on the movement until he blinks and fully realizes what is happening.

Bilbo is here. In his garden, seeing it for the very first time, after he has just broken both of their hearts.

It takes Thorin a moment to believe it.

“Thorin.” Bilbo repeats in a whisper and when he looks at him there are tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“How did you-”

“The others.” Bilbo shakes his head again, as if to say that train of thought can wait, and brushes the question aside. “This is… why didn’t you tell me?”

Thorin knows the real question. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt all this time we were apart? Why didn’t you show me?

“I tried.”

Bilbo’s expression shatters and for a moment Thorin can’t breathe. There is so much there in Bilbo’s face that it is like they are both reliving the past five years in the span of a heartbeat. “Yes. You did.”

He takes in the flowers and Thorin’s chest tightens, knowing the meanings the Hobbit must read in them. Regret, longing, pure love, endless love, unrequited love. Everlasting devotion and passion and apology all shown in the colours and the petals that stand beneath the moon.

Every year he chose different flowers, but the message has always been the same. An apology. A declaration of love.

A promise.

“When?” Bilbo breathes, turning around to take everything in better. “When did you do this?”

“The soil arrived the spring after you left. Everything else… it took months but eventually it came into place.”

“It’s beautiful.” His voice is shaky. “Mahal and Yavanna Thorin, I can’t… Fíli and Kíli said you did it all yourself?”

He bows his head. His chest hurts and he suspects he’s holding his breath, but he can’t help it. All he can do is wonder what Bilbo is thinking, what he came here to do, to say, when it had seemed like they’d both said everything earlier.

“You never said anything about this.” Bilbo turns, looking up at the trees, faintly illuminated under the moon and stars. “Why?”

“I... did not want you to feel obligated in any way. Or guilty.” He frowns. “Perhaps that was foolish.”

Bilbo looks like he can’t believe his eyes.

“And,” Thorin hesitates but goes on to speak anyway, forcing out the words until they begin to come more easily. “It is full of you. This has been a place of both comfort and sorrow for me, held deeply in my heart. I was afraid to share it and have you reject me here and ruin it forever.”

“Valar.” Bilbo says, heartfelt and wrenched out of him. “When they told me to come out here and see… I never thought…”

“It’s yours.” Thorin offers, unsure what Bilbo is trying to say and filling the silence he leaves with the only thing he can think of. Apparently they are both lost for words. “All of it, Bilbo. I built it for you.”

“ _Thorin_.” It’s said as if in prayer and now their eyes meet. Bilbo’s are wide and shining and he looks so young and entirely floored, like the slightest nudge will unbalance him.

“All this time I thought you didn’t think of me. I thought you didn’t care. But this…” He shakes his head and sits down on a bench. “This must have taken you _ages_.”

“The length of time didn’t matter,” he says absently. He can’t look away from Bilbo, doesn’t want to miss the smallest reaction or expression rapidly crossing his face. “I thought of you the whole time.”

He has nothing left to hide now, stripped down to the barest part of his heart, to his core that is covered with Bilbo’s name. “I needed a piece of you with me, after the mistake I made in sending you away. I could not survive alone.”

He lets out a shaky breath, ducking his eyes for a moment. “This felt like all I had left. And all I could do for you.”

Bilbo looks up sharply.

“I have missed you with a pain I did not think possible, _amrâlimê_.” Thorin moves to go in front of him on the grass, hands falling to rest on top of Bilbo’s on his knees. “You changed me for the better when we were together, but I have changed without you as well. I have tried to become someone you would be proud of.” Their stares hold. “You challenge me in ways nobody else can. I no longer feel like myself without you, and that is because you are a part of me now, one so irreplaceable I am incomplete when you are gone. Bilbo Baggins you are my One and I love you. Every part of me loves you. More than anything.”

His neck is curved from looking up but he doesn’t dare let his eyes wander. Bilbo’s eyes have widened even further and his small hands clench Thorin’s own. If Thorin was a betting sort he would guess the emotion in his eyes is hope.

“Your One?” He asks. “Thorin…”

“I want to be with you. I wish to court you once more. I want to marry you. Officially, before the eyes of our kingdom and lands beyond.” He swallows but cannot help repeating himself from this morning. Better to offer again and again and be refused, than not at all and have Bilbo leave when it is the last thing they both want. “I was not willing to risk Erebor back then, not even for you, but it’s different now. I would do anything for you, Bilbo, you must know that.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice is soft as he repeats his question. “How long did this orchard take you?”

“The better part of a year.” He blinks, unsure how to react to the question that comes in place of an answer. Has Bilbo not heard what Thorin just said? Why does the amount of time matter?

But it obviously does to Bilbo for some reason and so Thorin hastens to give the best answer he can.

“And every year I have planted new flowers and done my best to maintain it.” He shifts on his knees. “It wasn’t hard to find the time eventually. I ended up coming out here nearly every day. Sometimes more than once. Whenever I- when I would miss you particularly badly.”

Something breaks on Bilbo’s face and causes Thorin’s throat to thicken.

Bilbo looks past him to the trees and flowers again. “I planted my tree when I made it home. The acorn. Almost every day in the evening I would go out to my backyard and sit on the bench there quietly. And I would think about you. Our quest, Erebor and the others, but mostly you, Thorin, always you. And I would wonder whether you thought about me too.”

His eyes close as tears prick at them. The scene is too easy for him to picture. Bilbo sitting small and alone, watching the oak tree grow and hurting over Thorin’s foolishness and cruelty.

“But this…” Bilbo raises a hand and cups one of Thorin’s cheeks. His hands are soft and warm, and he opens his eyes almost unwillingly, blue meeting the brown. “This place is filled with love and care. Anybody can see it.” He blinks twice in quick succession as if holding back further tears. “And you made it for me.”

“Of course I did.” The confession falls hushes in the air between them. “There could never be anybody else.”

For a moment Bilbo looks past Thorin to take in the scene again and then he is leaning forward, closing the gap between their faces.

“I believe you.” He says so intently that it makes his whole face grow serious. “Thank you, Thorin.”

And then he kisses him.

It’s difficult to describe the soft pressure and silken feeling of Bilbo’s lips against his own and later Thorin will curse himself for not making more of an effort to memorize every detail. But at the time he is so overcome with feeling, both physical and emotional, that in that first moment he is frozen and wondering with a sinking feeing in his chest whether this has all been a torturously realistic dream.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But then Bilbo pulls back and he’s frowning unhappily. “Kiss me back, you stubborn old Dwarf, or I might think you’ve changed your mind.”

It’s the fond annoyance in Bilbo’s tone that does it. The exasperation he had gotten used to on their quest that belongs so singularly to Bilbo, a mannerism his memory has never quite gotten correct in even his most vivid and realistic dreams. A trait that had been sorely missed with everything else. 

“Oh.” Bilbo blinks as if a thought has just struck him and he smiles brilliantly. “And yes. I’ll stay here and marry you because I love you too.”

Thorin doesn’t need to hear anything else.

He surges forward and nobody could stop his lips from meeting Bilbo’s in that moment, not any Dwarf lurking in the trees, or horrible creature from their quest, or even Azog’s blade and Dragonfire. Thorin would fight through every single one of those obstacles and more if he had to, so that he can kiss Bilbo and take back what is his and should have been all along.

He cups the Hobbit’s face and angles their heads so their mouths slide against one another perfectly, lips meeting and parting in a way they had mastered years ago. Their bodies remember, and it feels the same as ever apart from the fact that it feels better than anything Thorin can think of.

The touch of Bilbo’s tongue sends sparks through his body and heat shoots through every vein.

When they part, both of them are breathing heavily, and Thorin swipes his tongue across his lower lip as if to catch the lingering taste of the one he loves.

“I’m still mad.”

He doesn’t sound mad. No the words are spoken as if in warning, and Thorin can’t help but be put at ease at that. This is Bilbo telling him of what to expect in the days and months and years to come. This is them finally figuring everything out for good so that they can move on and live their lives together with nothing left to hang over them.

His voice is remarkably soft when he answers. He hopes it comes out understanding. “I know.”

“But these last five years have been horrible, Thorin. And I can see it was not only awful for me, but you as well. I never want us to go through that again. I want us to be happy. And what makes me happiest is you.” Bilbo smiles a tad nervously. “It always has been and always will be.”

“Do you mean it?” He moves forward to bring their foreheads against one another, blue eyes searching those hazel ones.

He’s holding back his hope, too scared to find a shadow of doubt or hint of a lie. It all seems too good to be true and he is so scared of having his heart broken again.

“Yes. Yes I mean it.”

His eyes close in relief and his hands move to clasp Bilbo’s, bringing both sets of knuckles up to his mouth as he skims a kiss over the tops.

“I will do my best to make you happy for the rest of our lives.” When his eyes open they are earnest, and he feels so painfully young that with anybody else it would make him vulnerable. Even with Bilbo it shows a weakness that could cripple him if taken advantage of.

He never shows this side of himself to anybody else. Even Dís and her boys do not see below to the fears and regret that sometimes wake Thorin in the middle of the night.

Only Bilbo. Thorin had given every piece of himself to the Hobbit once and he will have to again, if there is anything still left to give. But if anybody can help him bear his burdens Bilbo can.

“Give me you,” Bilbo says quietly, staring deeply into him. “And I will never need to ask for anything else.”

Thorin kisses him again.

* * *

They go from the garden straight to Thorin’s rooms, holding hands and giggling between themselves like two youths drunk from ale.

“You shouldn’t laugh,” Thorin chastises him as he fumbles with the door to his room, Lila and Dido wisely not commenting on the state of either of them. Bilbo’s shirt is half hanging out of his trousers and Thorin suspects he has not looked so happy since he was a teen. “He was very offended.”

“You sent him wagons of gold to make up for refusing his daughter in marriage.” Bilbo is gasping from laughter and he leans against the wall to hold himself upright as Thorin practically slams the door behind them. “Who on Middle Earth told you that was a good idea?”

“Balin actually, so you can insult his intelligence next time you see him rather than mine.” That only makes the Hobbit laugh harder and Thorin groans, though not nearly as annoyed as he’s pretending to be. “Stop laughing!”

“Thorin you sent gold to a kingdom made up of gold mines. You told them there was nothing in this world that could persuade you into a marriage of allegiance with anybody, and definitely not them. What were they supposed to do, be grateful?”

“I could have sent them nothing except a refusal.” Thorin grumbles but moves to bracket Bilbo against the wall with his arms, leaning forward so far for their eyes to be level that his hair and beard swing to hang in the short space between them. “That would have pleased them much less I expect.”

“You’re horrible at diplomacy.” Bilbo accuses but his eyes sparkle and the words fall fondly from his lips. His expression is so loving Thorin’s breath catches. “Honestly, how have you survived all this time without me?”

Thorin takes the chance to leave their banter behind, instead choosing to answer Bilbo seriously.

“Very poorly,” he says honestly, and he only has half a second to catch the softening of Bilbo’s face before he leans forward to press their lips together once more.

A sound comes from Bilbo, low and wrecked, and it makes Thorin’s gut clench. Heat is already simmering throughout his body from the way Bilbo’s hands are running up and over his chest and shoulders, but it is that noise, that plea and sound of gratefulness, that truly makes his knees go weak.

Not for the first time the full realization that this is Bilbo and that this is all really happening sinks through him, and he pulls away so their eyes can meet when the Hobbit’s flutter open in silent question.

“You know now don’t you?” Thorin has been incessant in asking but this will be the last time. He just needs to hear it once more. “How I feel for you? How I have always felt?”

If possible Bilbo seems to soften even more and one hand comes to cup Thorin’s cheek. “Yes, I know. Let’s not waste any more time, my love. Take me to bed and we can start the rest of our lives together as we’re meant to.”

Sudden emotion makes Thorin blink quickly.

“As you wish.” He whispers and then they are kissing again, Bilbo’s hands coming up to grip Thorin’s hair, making him groan quietly before he pulls Bilbo against him and up into his arms to carry him to bed exactly as the Hobbit has asked.

They have made love many times, but this is probably the most intimate that Thorin can imagine. There is no rush here nor impatience. In fact, Thorin knows they are both taking in everything as slowly as they can, relearning and memorizing one another, carefully cataloguing every change.

Bilbo has a bit more fat around his middle and Thorin presses his lips to every inch, holding his face against the bare chest and reveling in the fact that he can do this once more. This is allowed again, he has been given permission, and it is something he has missed with every fibre of his being.

The Hobbit in turn takes in a scar from two years ago that is a thin white line raised on Thorin’s pectoral. A small stretch where no hair grows, which Bilbo’s fingertip follows lightly as his eyes ask what his lips do not.

“Dís caught me in a sparring match.” He whispers against the Hobbit’s lips and he feels Bilbo’s small smile and his chest fall as he breathes out in relief.

“I would like to see the two of you spar, I think.” Bilbo says absently, his eyes falling again to take in Thorin’s newly bare chest and his hands touching wherever their gaze lands. “It would certainly be something to entertain me.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Thorin says, moving to whisper in Bilbo’s ear between light kisses and gentle nips. When the Hobbit pulls away with a frown he sighs and looks away. “She beats me more often than not.”

“Does she really?” Bilbo sounds entirely too excited by the idea, which makes Thorin frown now and the Hobbit laugh. “I’m coming to watch the next time you two practice.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Thorin replies but he moves one hand to tease lightly just below Bilbo’s belly button. “Now please, no more talk of my sister while all I want is to do unspeakable things to you.”

“Oh.” Bilbo’s laughter cuts off abruptly. “Well if you insist.”

“I really do,” Thorin growls and then he is pulling the laces of Bilbo’s trousers and easing the fabric down his legs when the Hobbit lifts his hips.

For a long time they kiss, their bare bodies pressed against each other. Both of them want, but neither rushes, content to just be in the moment and savour every brush of skin against skin.

Eventually though Bilbo’s hips begin to lift as if the Hobbit can no longer stop himself, and Thorin laughs into his neck but is glad all the same, because he has begun to feel his lust turn from simmering to ravenous. His lips lock on the skin of Bilbo’s collarbone and at the same time he allows his own hips to press down, rubbing their lengths together and causing both of them to gasp.

“Yes, that’s more like it.” Bilbo hums and Thorin smiles but continues to work his lips down Bilbo’s chest to reacquaint himself with the Hobbit’s nipples, making his lover mewl in a deliciously familiar way.

“Thorin,” he gasps eventually, one hand pushing at the Dwarf’s shoulder, making him blink blearily but pull back. “Now please. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Oh thank Mahal.” He sighs and kisses Bilbo again filthily before quickly stretching to the bedside table and opening the top drawer to pull out the bottle of oil.

He tilts it in Bilbo’s direction. “Did you want to…?”

Bilbo grins at him wickedly. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten lazy. I fully intend to make you work for this, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin wonders if his blush is obvious. From the deepening amusement in Bilbo’s smile the answer is yes.

All the same his stomach tightens from the bolt of want that shoots through him at the challenge. Bilbo’s eyes darken at whatever expression he sees.

“Oh I intend to. You need not worry on that score.”

“Because I would so hate to be disappointed after all this time- oh!”

Thorin could have been a bit gentler perhaps, but at the way Bilbo has thrown his head back, mouth open in pleasure, it isn’t necessary.

“Alright?” He checks anyway and Bilbo nods, hands bunching the dark sheets beneath them in his fists.

“Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

He kisses the inside of Bilbo’s thigh and the Hobbit’s legs fall further apart. It’s too tempting for Thorin to resist bending down to mouth at his cock and neither of them hold back their moans at the contact. To be honest Thorin isn’t sure which of them is louder and makes a mental note to get Lila and Dido something for their discretion. Surely the sound is traveling through the several set of doors and rooms separating them from their guards.

But that thought is an errant one and gone quickly at the sounds and harsh pants coming from Bilbo.

“Stop, stop, Thorin, please. I just want you, now, I’m ready, please, it’s been so long.”

The words are more than enough to chip away at the remainder of the Dwarf’s patience and so it is within moments that he has pulled away with only a bit of regret and slicked up his own cock.

And then. Mahal and all gods above, then he is pushing in slowly, so slowly it is torturous, but he needs to hold back because if he doesn’t- if he lets go he isn’t sure what he’ll do.

“Oh.” Bilbo says. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Bilbo,” he whispers, the name breathed out onto the Hobbit’s lips as their eyes meet, dark and earnest and so tender and full of love that something inside of Thorin finally shakes loose and settles after years of untethered wandering.

“I love you.” The Hobbit’s eyes shine as they search his face and the slowly forming smile is the sweetest thing Thorin has ever seen. “I love you so much Thorin, but if you don’t move right now and fuck me then you’ll have an unhappy fiancé on your hands.”

It’s all too much as he drops his forehead to Bilbo’s shoulder in an attempt to master the storm of emotion inside of him. Bilbo’s hands move up from his arse to stroke his back gently, though his nails do scratch against him lightly, making Thorin shiver and causing his lover to groan beneath him.

“I need you to move Thorin,” Bilbo says quietly. “Please.”

With a deep breath Thorin pulls his head up so he can meet Bilbo’s eyes once again and then, finally, he moves his hips.

After that all is lost.

Bilbo is panting beneath him, begging for more and harder and faster until eventually he is only mouthing the words. Thorin never takes his eyes off of him, desperate to catch every expression, watching for those well-known signals of pleasure and feeling incredibly smug when he spots them.

There is that old splotchy flush on Bilbo’s face and chest. Sweat dimples at his temples and eventually causes strands of his hair to stick to his head and Thorin smells the musk of their lovemaking in the air and pants harder at the fresh wave of lust that sets off in him.

Neither of them can last and Bilbo’s hands are on his arse again, pulling him closer always, meeting him thrust for thrust and causing the air to leave their bodies in harsh breaths and low groans as the desire grows and grows, starting deep within them and spreading outward.

He sees it in Bilbo’s face first, the way his mouth falls slacker and his eyelids flutter closed. Thorin carefully rests all of his weight on one forearm and moves his hand to grip Bilbo’s cock and stroke it, putting effort into matching the rhythm of their hips.

It isn’t long after that when Bilbo arches up, hands scrabbling and scratching at the expanse of Thorin’s back, one long continuous moan filling the room. His muscles clench and that is all it takes for Thorin’s climax to hit, long and hard, coming from deep inside of him and reverberating to every nerve in his body.

His heartbeat is the first thing he’s aware of after, the feeling of it pounding against his ribs strong enough to bring him back. Bilbo’s skin sticking to his is next and Thorin moves back slowly with a grimace at the fluids spread in a mess between their chests. When he pulls away entirely Bilbo shifts, eyes fluttering open to meet his with a bright warmth. He turns over on his side to watch as Thorin gets up and when the Dwarf looks back he’s smiling softly.

It’s a matter of moments grabbing a cloth from the bathroom and dampening it before coming back to wipe Bilbo clean. All the while the Hobbit stays quiet, expression settling to something harder to read but still comfortable as he silently lies still for Thorin to tend to.

He hesitates only for a moment before looking away and taking the cloth back to the bathroom and cleaning himself. Then after quickly making his toilet and washing himself again he pats himself dry and moves back to the bed, this time circling to occupy the space beside Bilbo.

They settle on their sides and face one another. Still neither of them talk, and Thorin notes that despite their nakedness he’s a comfortable temperature before noticing for the first time that the fire in his room is lit and burning strongly.

“Come here.” Bilbo says a short time later and Thorin does immediately, moving forward so their arms can wrap around one another; his around Bilbo’s waist while the Hobbit encircles his shoulders and tucks Thorin’s head under his chin.

He can hear Bilbo’s heart beating. It’s slightly faster than normal but as he listens it slows and steadies.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Bilbo’s whisper is soft and slightly tremulous. Thorin’s grip tightens around him fractionally. “There’s no going back now for either of us.”

“Do you want to?”

“Not at all.” Bilbo pauses. “I just can’t believe this is real.”

“You are not alone in that.”

Bilbo tenses momentarily before his hands come up to lightly massage Thorin’s head, making his eyelids flutter closed. He takes a deep breath and soaks in the familiar smell of Bilbo and the scented soap he’s used for as long as Thorin has known him.

Minutes pass, and if it wasn’t for the movement of Bilbo’s fingers he would think that the Hobbit has fallen asleep. As it is, maybe Bilbo thinks the same of Thorin, because when he speaks again his words are a mixture of a plea and a promise.

“Let me hold onto you,” Bilbo whispers, hands running through Thorin’s hair gentle enough to make his breath come out shakily and tears form beneath his eyelids.

“Yes,” he says, holding Bilbo back around the waist just as closely. “And don’t let me go.”

“Never.” Bilbo vows and moments later Thorin feels lips pressing against the top of his head.

That night he has no problems falling asleep and no nightmares interrupt him. And when he wakes it is with Bilbo in his arms.

Thorin cannot help it.

He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay. So how are we feeling? Good, I hope? Pleased, I hope? Like nothing has been forgotten or overlooked, I hope?
> 
> Seriously though I just want to repeat for the billionth time how much I love all of you for reading this fic of mine. Writing it was a labour or love, but posting it has been nothing but an absolute joy. So many of you have commented throughout and every time a familiar name pops up I get the silliest, goofiest smile on my face. You've all been so lovely and I just want to say thank you from the very bottom of my heart.
> 
> Now there is still an epilogue to go! And while many of you might have an idea of what the epilogue may be (a certain event that we have been building to this entire time) I will warn you now that you will be disappointed. Originally I was going to make the last chapter the Kiliel wedding but then I actually started writing it and it turned into a monster. Way too long for an epilogue. So instead there's another brief little snippet that will be the final chapter here, and the Kiliel Wedding will be the second fic in this in the orchard fic series.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have. See you Sunday! (And hopefully after that as I add more works to this series!) <3
> 
> Lau


	22. Epilogue

They leave for Dale, and though Thorin knows Bilbo must be sick of his complaints the Hobbit shows no sign of it and the Dwarf king cannot find it in himself to stop.

“He’s only doing this because he hasn’t been the biggest topic of the past few weeks and is desperate for the attention.”

“So you have said, Thorin.”

“Well what other reason can he have for traveling in the dead of night to surprise us all two days before the wedding? Especially after all he has said on the subject.”

“Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Such things do happen you know, even in Elves.”

“Not this Elf.” Thorin grumbles, shifting in his Ram’s saddle. “I still don’t see why we both have to go.”

“Because he asked for us both specifically.”

“And is everyone expected to follow his every whim?” He growls before noticing Bilbo’s amused look and scowling. “Besides, I’m the king! He should come to me.”

Though the Hobbit tries to hide his laugh Thorin hears it. He purses his lips before continuing. “I’m not one to be summoned. Especially not for the likes of him.”

“Which we are all aware of.” Bilbo sighs. “Are you going to keep this up the whole way? You haven’t let it go since the Raven came this morning.”

“That’s another thing,” Thorin jumps on the new thought. “Why couldn’t he have written to tell us he was coming back when he left Mirkwood? He’s just trying to be as difficult as possible by giving the least amount of notice and demanding _we_ go to _him_ right away, when he knows everyone is busy with wedding preparations. Just expects us to put everything aside as soon as he asks.”

“The preparations have been all but finished since my third week of being here.” Bilbo rolls his eyes. “And you had nothing planned for the day except badgering Tauriel in a last attempt at intimidating her and trying to get through your if-you-hurt-him-you-better-watch-out speech again. Which was embarrassing the first time and something I think is well avoided.”

Thorin huffs. “She needs to know where I stand.”

“Believe me, she has no illusions on that score. We’re just lucky she spoils Kíli more than you do, or else you’d never be allowing this wedding to happen.” He sighs. “To tell you the truth I think I’ll be glad when it’s over and I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Not until it’s our turn.”

“That’s a whole year away, at the earliest. We have plenty of time before I’m even starting to worry about that. Though I have been thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Well, I have a bit much to handle myself, now that I’m taking on role as Consort. More than I expected. I was hoping to get an assistant.”

Thorin blinks in surprise at the sudden turn in conversation. “Of course. Who did you have in mind?”

“Well truthfully, I thought Twila might be a good fit for it. She’s such a sweet thing, and obviously experienced.”

Thorin should not be as shocked as he is, perhaps, but after a moment of thought he fills with joy at the idea. “I think that is perfect. And you having help will be a great benefit before the wedding.”

Bilbo gives him a look, obviously noting Thorin’s unwillingness to let the topic drop, before he sighs again. “Things are so much simpler in the Shire.”

“I envy them that.” Thorin hesitates and then dares to ask the question he’s been wondering for the past few days. “Now that we’re talking about it, there is one thing I’d like to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“That ring of yours that you prize so highly,” Thorin says, frowning down at his Ram quickly before moving the reins ever so slightly to keep it in line beside Bilbo’s. It is only because of that he is so caught off guard when he looks back up and catches the hunted expression on Bilbo’s face. “I was wondering whether you might want to use it in the ceremony.”

“No.” The answer is sharp and immediate and Thorin frowns at his lover. Bilbo’s hand has shoots to his breast pocket protectively. “No, out of the question.”

“Very well.” He says slowly. “I had only wondered.”

All at once Bilbo seems to realize how he’s behaving, and Thorin watches him blink twice in confusion before seeming to come back to himself. His hand falls away back to his saddle and he shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Sorry.” His words are a bit sheepish and his smile is apologetic. No trace of the suspicion from moments before lingers. “Maybe I’m a bit more annoyed at Thranduil dragging us out here than I thought. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s fine,” Thorin cocks his head. “You’re alright?”

Briefly the annoyance comes back to Bilbo’s face but it’s there and gone so quickly Thorin isn’t sure whether it’s his imagination. “Yes, fine. Tired I suppose. But no, to answer your question, I don’t want the ring to be in the wedding ceremony. It would be no good anyway, as it turns me invisible remember?”

“Oh yes.” And hadn’t that been a surprise, when Thorin had pushed Bilbo into telling him about the golden ring he always carried in his pocket and made him show its powers, only to have Bilbo disappear in front of his very eyes. Now he knows how the Hobbit manages to sneak around so effectively. “That’s true.”

“Besides, our rings should match, shouldn’t they? I thought you didn’t want gold in yours?”

“No, I don’t. But matching rings is more of a Human custom than ours. Unless that is some tradition of the Shire?”

In the Shire they don’t use rings at all in wedding ceremonies, a fact that Thorin well knows from his fledgling research into Hobbit wedding customs. However, that study is a secret from Bilbo at the moment and will hopefully remain so until closer to their wedding day when Thorin can surprise him with some of his newly learned knowledge.

“In the Shire we don’t wear rings at all.” Bilbo smiles at him and Thorin smiles back, both of them nodding at the guards at the gates of Dale as they enter the city. “But let’s get through this wedding first before beginning to worry about ours, hm?”

“I suppose you’re right.” The king sighs, feeling his irritation come back. “If I can make it through today that is.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Bilbo rolls his eyes and waves at a few of the Humans who stop on the streets to look at them. Thorin nods when he catches any of their eyes but doesn’t bother forcing himself to smile.

By now they are used to the sullen Dwarf King from Erebor. Just because his attitude has changed since Bilbo’s return doesn’t mean the Humans need to be made aware of the difference, nor does Thorin think they would particularly care.

It’s only minutes later that they reach Bard’s home and Thorin’s grip tightens on his reins at the sight of the Elves stationed at the door and dotting the street.

Honestly what does Thranduil think? That his impromptu visit will inspire an assassination attempt? Thorin doubts anybody but himself will think it worth the bother, and even then, he has only ever considered it when his anger at Thranduil has been highest. The Elf, fortunately or unfortunately, does not seem in any danger of being dethroned any time soon.

“Behave.” Bilbo says to him as they dismount, just as Bard’s door opens and the Man himself comes out to greet them.

“Your lack of faith wounds me.”

“Don’t think I forget our time spent in Thranduil’s kingdom on our quest.”

“That was hardly my fault,” Thorin manages to reply quickly, ignoring Bilbo’s incredulous look just as Bard speaks, arms spread wide in greeting.

“Hello you two! Come in, we were just talking about you both actually.”

Thorin’s smile is only slightly strained, a fact that he thinks he deserves some credit for. “Is that so?”

“Mmm,” Bard’s eyes are knowing and he rests his hand briefly on Bilbo’s shoulder in a special greeting. Thorin, who well knows that Bard likes Bilbo far more than him but cannot find it in himself to fault the Man for that feeling, tries not to be annoyed at the familiar gesture. “I was happy when you wrote to tell me of your betrothal, Bilbo. Thranduil was just sharing my sentiments.”

“I’m sure he was.” Thorin mutters which makes Bilbo elbow him sharply in the side. “Oof.”

“Behave, please.” Bilbo repeats again and Thorin sighs but decides to do his best. Perhaps it will make this meeting a bit less painful.

Bard walks ahead to open the door for them and, with one last second to prepare himself, Thorin is met with the sight of the Elf King sitting in one of the Man’s armchairs as if it is his own throne.

“Ah, finally.” His silken voice cuts through the air and makes Thorin tense on instinct. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence, King Under the Mountain.”

The glint in Thranduil’s eyes may be teasing but Thorin has no patience for it today. “Thranduil.”

“Forgive me if I don’t stand.” His smirk widens slightly. “It was a long journey, you understand.”

“Not at all.” Bilbo smiles at Bard in thanks at the offered chair and moves to sit in it, dragging Thorin along with him. “It’s nice to see you.”

Thranduil turns his attention to him while Thorin sits in the chair beside Bilbo’s and Bard takes a spot on a couch. Thorin is only slightly warmed when he notes the change in the other king’s demeanor, and the honesty in his words when he addresses Bilbo. “Hello Master Baggins. I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“Very well thank you.”

“Of course.” The Elf glances between them before resettling his gaze on Bilbo. “I offer my congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo smiles winningly before sharing a look with Thorin. “We’re very happy.”

As their eyes meet Thorin forgets Thranduil and Bard momentarily, and as a result he suspects the expression on his face is sappier than he’d usually be comfortable with.

“Yes we are.” He says in reply to Bilbo’s words and something inside him flares bright when the Hobbit smiles gently at him.

Bard clearing his throat reminds him that they’re not alone, and when he looks at Thranduil, fully intending to glower and glare away any sneer or mocking he sees, he is surprised to see nothing on the Elf’s face at all. Though there is something deep in his eyes that makes Thorin suspect mockery is the furthest thing from his mind.

“Ah, but enough about that.” Bilbo says, cheeks slightly red at their display. “You said you’d like to speak with us both, King Thranduil?”

The Elf blinks and the careful mask is gone to be replaced with his usual feigned bored expression. “Yes.”

They wait but Thranduil says nothing else and Thorin loses patience quickly. “Well? What about? Why have you come?”

Thranduil’s smile is slow but sharp. “Why I am here for the wedding.”

Both Thorin and Bilbo fall silent. When he glances at Bard he meets the Man’s eyes and watches him sigh and make an expression of sympathy.

Poor Bard, Thorin can’t help but think in a rare moment of kindness towards the Man. He’s always caught in the middle of Thorin’s petty squabbles with Thranduil. No wonder he always looks so tired.

But that sympathy is not enough for Thorin’s annoyance at the Elf to be hidden away.

“You cannot be serious.” Thorin growls.

Thranduil’s cold eyes drift to land on him. “I have no reason to lie.” He sniffs in disdain. “Do not alarm yourself. King Bard has graciously offered to host me during my stay, an offer which I have accepted.”

“Why?” Thorin asks and it is blunt but no less earnest because of that. Thranduil has shown nothing but disdain for Tauriel and Kíli ’s union, and there is no reason for his opinion to have changed. Not that Thorin can see.

“Because I wish to spare myself the inevitable headache that will arise if I stay in Erebor.”

Thorin grits his teeth. “Why come to the wedding?”

The Elf stares at him impassively. “That is none of your concern.”

“If you wish to attend the wedding of my sister-son, held in my kingdom, after so blatantly opposing it, I would know your reasons.”

“Now perhaps-” Bard begins but is cut off.

“I have had a letter from my son. And though it has not convinced me entirely of attending this… union, it was enough to make me come all this way and see for myself the state of things.”

“The state of what exactly?”

“Again, that is none of your concern.”

“Do not test me-”

“Lord Thranduil you have been more than kind to me in the past when I travelled through your kingdom.” Thorin snorts but immediately turns it into a cough at Bilbo’s silencing glare. Apparently their stay in Mirkwood on the quest is not to be mentioned at this time. “I have no wish to question your motives, but I confess after all I have heard on the matter and seen in your behaviour with my own eyes, I don’t understand why you would wish to attend at all.”

Thranduil sits and stares at them both for long enough to become disconcerting. Thorin feels Bilbo shift and glance at him but he makes no move to look away.

Finally the Elf King frowns slightly and puts down his cup of wine.

“My reasons are my own. Though I would ask for a moment of your time, Bilbo Baggins, if you would permit it?”

Thorin’s eyebrows rise to his hairline and Bard looks between Thranduil and Bilbo in surprise.

“Of course.” Bilbo blinks.

Thranduil rises fluidly and slips quickly into the next-door room. Bilbo shoots one last look at Thorin before he follows.

It is only because of Bard’s presence and his own dignity that Thorin doesn’t go and listen at the door. He can hear only the faintest of murmurs, and he and Bard don’t even pretend to make conversation as they both wait.

When the two finally emerge, it is nearly an hour later, and Thorin’s patience has worn even more thin. Bard is busy writing something on a piece of parchment he has been given from a guard at the door, but he looks up and over just as quickly as Thorin when Thranduil and Bilbo reappear.

Thranduil remains as unreadable as ever. Bilbo on the other hand looks stunned.

“I will come to the wedding.” Thranduil doesn’t hesitate to speak. “And if Tauriel and your nephew will allow it I would ask to accompany you back to Erebor and speak with them as soon as possible.”

Thorin glances at Bilbo who nods frantically. He frowns at the Hobbit before looking back at Thranduil in confusion. “I’ll send them a Raven.”

“Very well.” Thranduil inclines his head slightly. “I will go and see that my people are comfortable.”

“I’ll go with you.” Bard gets up with a sigh. “I have some things to talk to Maria about. You know where our birds are?”

The question is aimed at Thorin who nods and Bard nods back. “Good. I’ll leave you to make your way there.”

Thranduil barely waits until they’re finished before leaving, and Bard follows to go and talk to his second-in-command with an amused expression.

Immediately Thorin looks at Bilbo. “Will you tell me?”

“Yes.” Bilbo is still frowning, eyes watching where Thranduil has just exited. “Come on, I’ll talk and you take us to the aviary.”

Bilbo is still frowning when they begin climbing the stairs and Thorin sighs in exasperation, patience tested. At the sound the Hobbit jolts a bit, smiling softly.

“Sorry. He asked what I thought of Tauriel and Kíli and I told him how happy they make one another, how well suited they are, all of that. It got quite personal, for a moment,” Bilbo’s brows furrow in contemplation before he shakes his head. “And then he said he had raised Tauriel in his own household for the past 600 years or so. And he said something about needing to show Legolas he approved of the union… I think he might have mentioned Gimli somewhere along the line too, though to be honest I was so shocked I paid less attention than I should have.”

Thorin chokes. “He what?”

Bilbo’s eyes dance in amusement. “You know I do believe this may be Thranduil’s subtle way of saying he approves of Dwarves and Elves being together. Fancy that.”

“Bilbo.” He growls. The Hobbit doesn’t seem to realize just how serious this is.

Not in a threatening way. But Thorin is a strange cross of fascinated and horrified as he realizes exactly what is happening. The idea that Thranduil is doing his best to make it clear to Legolas that whatever is going on between him and Gimli… it seems Thranduil will not stand in the way of it.

Something shifts in Thorin’s stomach and he wonders if he’s going to be sick. He feels nauseous.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Bilbo elbows him, bringing him back to the present as they come to the room of Ravens. “Honestly you’re both as bad as each other.”

“Please.” Thorin begs. “Never say that again. It is the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Dramatic.” Bilbo mutters again under his breath but Thorin barely hears him, too caught up in his own thoughts.

Well this just won’t do. Not at all. He couldn’t stand it if Thranduil gives Legolas and Gimli his blessing before Thorin does. Thorin had not even known there was anything to bless, not officially! Why had he allowed preparations for the wedding and his own love life to distract him so thoroughly?

“I must tell Gimli that I don’t oppose any union they may have.” Thorin mutters to himself. “Mahal damn me if Thranduil beats me to it.”

Though he had already told Legolas, long ago. There is some satisfaction to be gleaned from that at least, having beat Thranduil to offering acceptance of his own son.

Still, if things have progressed without Thorin’s knowledge then he knows he will never live it down if Thranduil knows about it before him.

Amusement is still clear in every line of Bilbo’s expression, but he seems to force himself into being serious when he replies, “of course.”

“In any other circumstance I would hardly go out of my way to say it, but imagine if they feel compelled to live in Mirkwood of all places.” Thorin can’t help but shudder in disgust as he scribbles the message to Kíli about Thranduil’s request to meet with him and Tauriel. “I couldn’t do that to the lad.”

“Quite right,” Bilbo nods in agreement. “Can’t let Thranduil get the upper hand.”

“I know you’re teasing.” Thorin growls. He ties the letter to the Raven perhaps a bit too tightly and strokes its feathers in apology before turning to Bilbo. “I won’t pretend to be happy about it, but after all this time I’ve learned not to let my own prejudices make trouble. Or at least I try not to.” He hastens to add before Bilbo can speak, reading the expression on his fiancé’s face. “Do you honestly think they’ll make each other happy? I can’t imagine putting up with Legolas for the rest of my life.”

“Nor do you have to.” Bilbo reminds him. “But yes, I actually think they’re well matched. And anyone can see their mad for one another.”

“Really?” Thorin’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know that I’d go quite that far…”

Legolas yes. That has been clear since the beginning. And he supposes after everything it is obvious Gimli cares for the Elf.

But really. He’d told Legolas as subtly as he could that he didn’t want them rushing into anything. Are they really spurning Thorin’s words so quickly? Or is this just Thranduil being his usual dramatic self and rushing to cause a stir where none is to be made?

He sighs. It seems Bilbo is right. As usual. And really, Thorin knows that. It seems there had just been that small, tiny part of him that managed to convince himself things might change before the announcement of a relationship.

“Believe me, they’re completely gone for each other. You don’t need to worry on that front.”

He sighs. “So that’s that then. No chance of it being a passing fling.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no.” Bilbo touches his arm comfortingly. “I admit you’re taking this much more calmly than I expected.”

Thorin shrugs. “I can hardly deny Gimli his One when I am allowing Kíli and Tauriel to marry. Nor act as if I didn’t know it was coming, after everything. Besides.” He lifts a hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek lowering his face so their lips brush. “I understand better than most I think.”

They kiss softly until Thorin pulls away with a sigh and mournful look on his face. “I suppose this will only become more common, what with our new relations with the Elves.” He shudders. “Thank Mahal nobody has wanted to marry a Man yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure the day for that will come as well. Just look at Thranduil and Bard.” Bilbo says easily and Thorin feels his expression freeze in horror. That is one thing he absolutely refuses to contemplate, even for a moment. “But of course, not for a while yet, I’m sure. Maybe even not in our lifetime.”

“One can only hope.”

“Oh yes, however will you survive it?” Bilbo teases as they begin to make their way down again.

“As I survive everything.” Thorin replies. “With you by my side.”

From the look on Bilbo’s face it is the right answer, and Thorin grins and takes the Hobbit’s hand as they go down, internally preparing for the no doubt drama-filled next few hours and days.

But it will be alright he knows, as Bilbo squeezes his hand. He isn’t alone any longer.

With a hidden smile he squeezes Bilbo’s fingers back, and together they open the door to step outside into the summer air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last time I want to give a huge shout out to everyone who has read this, and an even bigger one for my amazing commenters. This has been so much fun and it's all down to you guys.
> 
> If anyone's interested in reading Kili and Tauriel's wedding I'm hoping to have that posted next Sunday as the second work in this universe. And I've started plotting out my sequel for this (there are a few hints in this chapter about what you can expect in it if you choose to stick around), so while that probably won't be posted soon, know that I am working on it and will get it to you eventually.
> 
> Here's to our first (but hopefully not final) goodbye. Love you guys.
> 
> Lau


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